Keep an Open Mind
by Neva
Summary: Sequel to "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" and "Mind Over Matter." A bewildered mutant and an angst-ridden human girl try to continue their respective lives despite the past and continuing link that binds them. Read and review!
1. Prologue

A/N: While on vacation with my family, I ended up spending a lot of it in my own head... and, um, not alone. My muse was excellent company, and we did get a lot of pretty good ideas going (I think) including this one, for the next volume in the Wallglass saga. There will be characters from the comics added in this and future stories.

Disclaimer: Own the X-Men? Moi? What are you smoking?

Prologue

Although everyone in the office building had gone home for a much-needed rest, the word had yet to be processed by one Graydon Creed -- lawyer, orator, aspiring politician, and shepherd of what he already thought of as the Cause. With a capital C. After all, it was hard to find peace when your entire race was being invaded, little by little.

Newspapers littered the top of his desk. There were a couple issues of the National Examiner and the Weekly World News, but most were papers containing facts that sane people with relatively normal lives would believe and trust. Of course, if the subjects of each and every top story had their way, "normal" would be redefined... and pretty darn quickly, too. And that must not happen.

Different papers, from different parts of the country, and with different people as their audiences. They all had two things in common, however: each had a relatively wide circulation, and each front-page headline contained the word "mutant" -- a word that caused Creed's fists to clench every time he even glanced at it.

Less than two years ago, the rest of the world hadn't even known about mutants. A few were aware, but they were keeping their mouths shut, no doubt because of pity for the freaks. And someone had done a very, very good job of covering it up from the general public. Who that someone was, was still a mystery, but one thing was clear: he or she had made a grave mistake.

Lately -- no earlier than this past summer, if that -- mutants had begun to be taken a little more seriously than reports of UFOs, or Bigfoot, or man-eating houseplants. Reports of people, many no more than teenagers, starting fires without lighting a single match, lifting cars without going near them, or developing bizarre physical characteristics, had begun to appear nightly on the news. Seeing them, Creed had become intrigued and more than a little frightened. And when the cause of these unnatural occurrences had been named, he had known that it was very real.

If everything he'd heard about these mutants (and it still wasn't nearly enough) was true, who knew what they were capable of? They could kill with a wave of a hand or a mere thought. They could gain access to classified government information. They could even easily take over the world, believing that their so-called superiority gave them the right -- and the responsibility -- to do so. After all, they had abilities that the rest of the world did not. No doubt they would believe that these powers gave them the upper hand in some sort of sick natural selection.

That must not happen!

And who would be there to stop them? Well, Creed himself, of course. An associate of his claimed to be working on a robot that could track and destroy mutants, but it all sounded, in truth, like a lot of hot air. In the meantime, there was also a small handful of humans from two relatively close towns in upstate New York. To start.

Robert Edward Kelly had had a run of bad luck throughout his first year as principal of Bayville High School. It seemed that everything that could have gone wrong, had, from interdimensional portals to a mysterious fire at the first soccer game of the season... mysterious to the man himself, who still didn't recall most of the details. But he knew enough to be convinced that most of the chaos had been caused by mutants.

Kelly's story was chronicled in one of the tabloids buried in the stack. The reporter was Delia Foxworth, who lived relatively close to Bayville in an even smaller town called Wallglass. Creed had spoken to her not too long ago. It turned out that after interviewing Kelly, Ms. Foxworth had concluded that both he and her young daughter, who had been present at that same soccer game (coming home with fuzzy memories and suffering a subsequent series of nervous breakdowns), had been victims of mind control. She had recently gotten together with two friends, Randolph Flaherty and Harold Doyle, to decide what to do about the problem. They hadn't taken any decisive action, however, whether it was due to their fear of the unknown or their fear of being labelled as nutcases if they came forward. They had been waiting for the right time.

And that time was now.

There had never been a better moment to point the general public in the right dimension while they were still debating how to react to the very probable mutant threat.

Certain factors might delay them at first: Kelly's high-strung personality, Doyle's childlike inanity (the man would never be bright enough to either rise above the position of lackey or be dissatisfied with that position), Flaherty's paranoia, the possibility that Ms. Foxworth would abandon the Cause once she found out the whole story. And there would always be the presence of freak-lovers in the crowd who would condemn them as a hate group.

Which they most certainly were not. Humanity was facing one of its greatest threats ever: possible replacement by a bunch of freaks. And they were not going down without a fight. Although mutants were not yet confirmed, it would take one little spark to ignite the fires of judgment, and that spark would be lit soon... very soon. When that did happen, the ones to fan the flames would be none other than...

Creed snapped out of it and half groaned. In his excitement, he had forgotten that his group still didn't have a name. The Cause was what they were fighting for, not who they were. He picked up the list that Harold Doyle and Delia Foxworth had comprised. It was a good-sized list with some decidedly bad ideas, everything from "Anti-Mutant Alliance" to "Union for Reclaiming the World" to, last but not least, "Friends of Humans."

It was almost enough to make him forget the whole thing, or at least tear that piece of paper into tiny pieces. Which he was about to do, until the last item on the list caught his eye again.

It was certainly positive and innocent-sounding enough, conveying the message that they were only out to help and defend ordinary people who worked their way through life without depending on special powers. But it was also awkward. Wishy-washy. And weak, something that they couldn't afford to be. Especially right now. He wanted the name "Friends of Humans" to work. But it just... didn't.

After tapping his eraser on the table for what seemed like an eternity, Creed picked up the pencil again. He scribbled out the last letter. Added three more. And smiled.


	2. Searching the Sky for Owls

Chapter 1: Searching the Sky for Owls

Violet had discovered the Harry Potter books when she was in third grade, reading them straight through while locked in her room one weekend. "Our little speed reader," her mother had called her, but the truth was, those books had been impossible to put down. The centaurs and dragons and broomstick flying was exciting, sure, but what really got to her was the main character and how he'd stuck it out even when the odds were against him. 

Now she was lying in the hammock in her backyard, her copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ (she'd read it at least eight times already, and it was her favorite of the four books that were out so far) open on the grass below her.

Picking up her book, she looked at it reflectively, recalling the number one reason that she had gotten interested in the story in the first place. After all, Harry had grown up in a house where he was sure that he didn't belong. 

_That's just like us,_ Violet remembered telling her brother excitedly, thinking about her obsessed screenwriter dad and flighty socialite mother, and how they belonged to a world that seemed as far-off to her sometimes as the next planet. He'd agreed right off, adding that if anyone at school found out that he was reading those books, they'd think he was a freak. She'd replied that they already thought he was a freak, and he'd thrown a pillow at her.

Harry had also been ostracized (an Advanced Vocabulary word that none of them would probably ever use again) in school. _That's us, too,_ she thought, trailing her fingertips in the grass. Neither of them had ever been terribly popular at school, her because she was smart, Stephen because he made friends with girls and didn't try to fit in.

And finally, the books' title character had learned what he really was and gotten invited to a myserious school that was hidden from the rest of the mundane world, who couldn't possibly understand. As she thought that, she knew that it was time to stop playing.

When she had read the first book, she had prayed for her Hogwarts letter, telling herself that it wasn't too late. Now she had stopped searching the sky for owls. What had happened in the last year had changed their family in so many small ways. That was one of them. 

Mr. Freed, who lived next door, was mowing his lawn for the second time that morning. Inside, Charity was laughing loudly on the phone with her best friend, Joanne.

Too loudly.

Violet had gone to day camp for the first two-thirds of the summer, and hated it. The counselors were all fascists (even though she still wasn't quite sure what that had meant, she'd heard Phoebe, who was a CIT at the same camp, describe them that way), armed with compulsory sing-alongs and bracelet-making to precision. She hadn't made a fuss when Charity told her to go and have a good time. She knew how far speaking up would get her.

As if on cue, her mother's voice floated out through the sliding glass doors. "...did hear from Stephen, of course we're sorry that he didn't come home for the summer..." Vi had hoped that the fakey tone that Charity always used when talking about Stephen, whether or not it was with someone who knew the truth or not, would disappear with time. No such luck.

She still wasn't allowed to watch the news reports. Charity and Darren watched them, shaking their heads at each other grimly, when they thought she was asleep. So you're scared for him, too, she thought. Aren't you?

Actually, she was pretty scared herself. Why were mutants on the news? Weren't they supposed to be some big secret? Wasn't that what Xavier had said? Had he been lying?

_Would you really put it past him?_ Her conscience (although _that_ word still brought Jiminy Cricket to mind) was speaking up again. _Not that they'd listen if you said you thought he had been. They still don't think you understand._ Well, maybe she didn't. She had just turned nine when the bombshell was dropped. She hadn't even known what a mutant was. It didn't sound like a very nice thing to call someone. It made her think of green-skinned monsters from her friend Nina's video games. It made her think of something out of a horror movie, something that stomped cities and had to be blasted with ray guns. And, of course, there were the kids in her class who yelled stuff like, "Last one there's a mutant!" when they raced to the swings.

And then the creepy guy in the creepy wheelchair with the X's in the wheels was saying that yes, mutants were real, yes, they meant something besides that, and yes, in fact it could happen to someone in your family, and as a matter of fact it had. She remembered every detail of that day, right down to her own mind screaming _Why is this such a big deal? Why? It's not like he _wanted_ this. So why is it such a big deal? It would be different if he had actually hurt anyone._ (Well, besides those jerks at his school, but they had deserved it, and there had been, as Dumbledore liked to say, "no lasting harm done.")

And she had kept quiet, because, in some way that she couldn't understand, it _was_ a big deal. 

She was sorry, too, that he had had to stay at That Place (as it was affectionately called at Casa Spencer) for the summer. The family had had minimal contact with him since... well, since last Christmas. She wasn't sure why, or whether it had something to do with how she'd told her relatives what he was. It had been stupid mistake. She didn't think anyone would take her seriously, and she certainly didn't think...

_Question, baby girl: what happens to Muggles who find out the truth?_

We don't talk about that! she replied just as quickly. During the stunned silence that had followed her outburst, Stephen had bolted and she'd been quick to follow. She didn't known what had happened next.

_Of course you don't. Just keep telling yourself that._

"Shut up!" she hissed out loud. "Stevie would never..."

_Maybe not. Probably not._

"Then why'd you say..."

_You really need to learn to finish your sentences, Violet Gertrude._ And then the voice was silent.

Violet was still at an age where she excepted things with a fair amount of credulity. (Another Advanced Vocab word.) When that creep told her that her always-slightly-"off" brother could read minds and

_(manipulate other people's thoughts)_

do God knows what else, the only thing she had wondered was why everyone else thought it was such a big deal. And when a strange voice spoke up in her head, the only thing she was confused about was why it insisted on using her middle name, which she hated (as who wouldn't?).

But now that mutants were becoming a big thing, she was scared for the first time since the beginning of it all.

_Tell them! Tell them what you think! Tell them what you _know_!_

They would just say that she didn't understand.

That was probably true. But she would never learn the whole truth until they let her.

A/N: Don't own the Harry Potter books, either, but I was still a total fan when I discovered the X-Men for the first time. When it said that Xavier was hiding the true nature of his school, my initial reaction was, "It could be worse. They could be erasing people's memories."

As you can see, the first chapter was mainly just Violet reflecting... and suspecting. If you have anything you particularly want to see in future chapters, you know what to do. I'll try to accomodate your ideas. I have a feeling I'm going to regret this. 


	3. Too Soon To Tell

A/N: Okay, did anyone else love Hex Factor as much as I did? Looks like I'm going to have to rethink my plans for the future of this story.

Chapter 2: Too Soon To Tell

"Kitty, I don't know what you said to talk me into this," Amara said for at least the third time.

"'We all need clothes for school, and Jubes and I will show you the ropes.' That's what I said." Kitty grinned. "Okay, over that way is the Gap and the Style Empire. Up the escalator and to the..." She paused. "To the left, is the Mermaid Boutique. Back-to- school-sale signs will be in blue, green, and yellow." The dark-skinned sophomore's eyes were as wide as saucers. "What?"

"You know where everything is, that's all."

"What kind of citizens would we be if we didn't know our own kingdom?" Jubilee asked, flipping down her pink shades.

"The lights... the noise... the crowds... the bulldozers outside..."

"That's from where we tangled with the Brotherhood last spring," Kitty told her. "Kurt once said that you can generally tell where we've been, and I believe it. It was a good thing nobody was around."

"Didn't you guys totally get your butts whipped?"

"We had to retreat. Xavier tried to give us a pep talk after, but Cyke led, like, a major walk-out."

"Talk to the hand, Baldy!" Jubilee put in with a laugh.

"Hey, it wasn't like that." Kitty frowned. "Actually, even Scott was talking to him again by the next day."

"That's because Xavier is..."

"He is not! How'd that rumor get started, anyway?"

"I think it was Bobby," Amara said softly. "But we're just kidding around, honest. The professor wouldn't do a thing like that. Until he came along, I didn't even know that the outside world existed. And Jubilee, you didn't even have a home."

"Still, I don't see why Bobby's always throwing his weight around." Kitty stepped on the escalator. "Who died and made him God Emperor Emeritus of the New Mutants, anyway? You guys need another leader, and fast. I mean, Lance almost got blamed for one of your stupid mistakes!" She swallowed, as if mentioning his name was painful. Since Mystique's return, she and Lance had been seeing very little of each other. Now that the Brotherhood was back in business, he was their enemy again. _We can't risk it,_ Xavier had said. You might get lost in the moment and say something you'll regret later. _And if Mystique catches you, she could take her anger out on the rest of us._

They stopped at the Style Empire first. Glad to have something to take her mind off of the way Lance's chocolate-colored eyes had looked when she'd ignored him in the hall, Kitty guided Amara over to the sale rack. "Short sleeves to start," she said reflectively. "Red is definitely your color. And Jubes, you'd look great in this." She held up a pale blue one-shoulder top.

"In _that_? It's pretty hoochie."

"Exactly. Wear it on the first day of school with those great jeans, and ditch the yellow coat, and we'll need crowbars to pry the guys away from you."

"Ditch my coat?" Jubilee repeated. "I think not. And what guys are you talking about?"

"What about Stephen?" Kitty asked slyly.

"What about him?"

"She's blushing!" Kitty said to no one in particular. "I _knew_ it. Didn't you know it, 'Mara?"

"He's cute," Amara admitted. "Even though he needs a haircut. And he's funny, too."

"Then why don't _you_ go out with him?" Jubilee demanded. She _was_ blushing. How disgusting.

"Because I have Roberto. And Kitty has Lance... well, had him." Before Kitty could open her mouth, Amara plunged on. "But you and Stephen... it's perfect."

"It is not perfect. He likes someone else."

The other two girls stepped back almost in unison. "Who?" Amara asked. "It's not someone from the Institute, is it? Or someone from school?"

"An old friend, I think. She came to visit a while back. Remember?"

"I do," Kitty said right away. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about, Jubes. When Rogue and I walked by, the two of them were fighting like... like I don't know what. It was about Xavier. I think Rogue wanted to put her two cents in -- as usual -- but I dragged her away. So she was like, 'Who was that girl?' And I said I didn't know."

"I do," said Jubilee. "Her name's Phoebe. I asked if she was a new recruit at first, but she's not even a mutant. And even if you tortured him with flesh-eatng cockroaches, he'd still say they were just friends. But he likes her. I can tell."

"Wait, wait." Amara didn't raise her voice often, but when she did, people listened. She immediately lowered it before continuing. "What do you mean, she's not even a mutant?"

"Just that. Hey, Kitty, this would look great on you."

"Don't change the subject. From what Rogue and I heard, this girl knows more than she should, and she's not happy about it. When I heard _that_, I thought maybe she was one of us and just didn't believe the same things. But if she's not, and she doesn't care about what we're doing here, then she could tell someone. Unless he erased her memory," she added hopefully.

"I wish," said Jubilee, trying to disguise the bitterness in her voice. She'd heard some of the story, and she'd kind of gotten the feeling that even though Xavier hadn't done anything, Phoebe knew that he would, so she was keeping her mouth shut. And Stephen thought she hated him now, but it was perfectly obvious that his feelings for her hadn't changed.

Jubilee herself had noticed him from the first day he had arrived. In fact, she vividly remembered thinking that he was cute, and then averting her eyes, wondering he'd heard. That was the problem with telepaths. You didn't know, especially if they were good. Of course, he hadn't been, at first. She could have easily felt him snooping around inside her head, and decked him a good one. But she also trusted him in a way that she hadn't trusted Perfect Jean, who never even stopped to consider anyone else's feelings, or even Xavier, who worked on the end-justifies-the-means system.

And she still thought he was cute and funny and nice, but most of all, she thought he was _real_. He didn't act like a daredevil to impress other people (like Bobby or Evan), or suck up (Scott), or clown around (Kurt). She'd been afraid at first that he would fall into a role when he became Xavier's little puppet, but neither of those things had happened... yet.

Well, maybe he'll decide she isn't worth it, she told herself. And he sounded like she's too scared to even go near that place again.

Half an hour later, they emerged from the Style Empire with a shopping bag apiece. "Where to next?" Amara asked. "I saw one of those signs you talked about over by Harmon's. All flared jeans 30 percent off."

Jubilee shot Kitty a glance. "She's one of us now."

**

As they cruised by the fountain, Amara was the first to notice a very familiar figure clutching a stack of papers. "It's Principal Kelly!" she hissed. There was nothing more surreal than running into one of your teachers outside school. "Maybe if we don't see him, he won't see us."

Too late. "Are the three of you almost ready for school?" Kelly asked with a patronizing smile.

There was a general mutter of "yes."

"Shopping."

"Yes," the girls chorused again.

It was Jubilee who asked, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for support for a new organization."

"Oh." This happened from time to time. Over winter break, two weirdos in dorky Christmas getups had tried to recruit for something called Citizens for Impoved Morale, which gave a lot of drivel about peace and community but didn't exactly state what it was _doing_. "What organization."

Kelly's smile widened, and he handed her a flier. "We call ourselves the Friends of Humanity."

Once the three of them were safely out of earshot, Jubilee produced and skimmed the flier. Her almond-shaped eyes widened. "Oh, no," she said. "You two have to take a look at this."

**

"Why didn't you tell us?" Scott demanded.

"I was sure that you knew that mutants are becoming too numerous to be the secret they once were," Xavier explained, "and I didn't want to worry you until something drastic happened."

Kitty brandished the flier. "Is this drastic enough for you? 'Whether you know it or not, the human race is in more danger every day. We are being invaded, not by enemies from abroad, not by little green men from Mars, but by seemingly ordinary people -- possibly our own friends and neighbors -- who possess abilities beyond our imagining...' I mean, what _is_ this? I'm not trying to invade anyone, at least not last I checked!"

"You should've let us know." Evan this time. "It involves all of us. Just like the whole Mystique thing involved all of us."

"You haven't heard anything from your parents?" Xavier asked him.

"No, they've been pretty hush-hush."

"Kitty? Jean?"

"Sara mentioned something about mutants on the news," Jean said, "but I didn't take her seriously. I guess I should have. I'm sorry, Professor."

"It's all right, Jean. You had no reason to suspect anything."

"What do you think we should do?" Rogue asked from where she was slumped in one corner of the couch.

"You've always lain low at school. Now, you must do absolutely nothing to draw attention to yourselves. No more involvement with the Brotherhood." This with a penetrating stare at Scott, Evan, and Kitty, in turn. "Keep your eyes and ears open, especially those with connections on the outside. I will tell the younger students the same thing." 


	4. Witness

Chapter 3: Witness

_August 31_

_With a father, a sister, and a boyfriend who care about me, and a mother who I sometimes think almost cares about me, you'd think that I would feel pretty safe most of the time. Like there was always a hand reaching out for me. And you're right. Most of the time, I do feel that way. But there are times, especially lately, when I feel like they'll never understand, and I need to talk to someone who won't judge me. Therapy's out. I guess I should consider you my therapist, except cheaper. _

_I haven't kept a journal since fourth grade. Back then, it was a requirement for school and a joke, since Mr. Sesko read everything we wrote and put his little comments in the margins. "That sounds interesting!!" he would write, or, "Why do you imagine you felt this way???" If they thought Angel had supressed rage (which sometimes even I think she did), then they probably I had some sort of inner angst that I was hiding._

_Anyway, I never saw the point of journals, and now, it goes double. Writing your thoughts down in a private place so nobody can see them. Maybe it would have been a good idea then, but now? There are people out there who can go inside your head and find out all your secret thoughts without you even knowing that they're doing it. Sure, there are also mutants who can start fires or bend metal or walk through walls, and that's not so hot either, but I can put a safe distance between myself and them. Like I've tried to create a safe distance between myself and last year. Reese, who works at a New Agey store in town, once asked me if I believed in paranormal powers. "You know," he said as if I didn't get it. "Clairvoyance, precognition, telepathy." Guess who didn't jump when he mentioned that last one? Congratulate me!!!_

_I'm having mixed feelings about this year. I guess that's typical for an incoming senior. I'm a little sad about leaving school, maybe, but I'm not going to get all teary-eyed at graduation. Nervousness -- what if I don't get into one of the artsy schools I applied to, and is my dream of being a singer a realistic one? Confusion -- how are we supposed to simultaneously be optimistic and realistic about the future? Happiness -- I'm getting out, finally! And hope -- that my last year of high school will actually be one I will remember forever, because junior year was one that I would absolutely love to forget._

_I try my best not to think about it. I was told to get on with my life. It was good advice, and I never ever learned the name of the person who gave it to me. _Once they go to the X-Geeks_, she said,_ there isn't any turning them back_. So I didn't try. I only spoke to him once since I saw him last, and what we said was enough to convince me that the girl was right._

_Okay, all together now. What am I going to do this year? Survive._

_What is there going to be none of? Angst._

_And what are my decisions going to be based on? What happened to me? What almost happened to me? Wrong and wrong again. They're going to be based on who I am, what I want, even though I'm not sure of either of those things. Not yet._

_**_

_September 6_

_They say that the first week of school is never as bad as you think it's going to be. They're right. It's worse. Even the night before, when you're worrying, you can't really comprehend how much it's going to suck. The air outside, which seemed so warm and sunny the day before, now has an inexplicable chill. The zipper on my backpack is broken. Angelina chomped her gum in my ear throughout the bus ride, then split off to join her friends -- Trish and Haley, who were suspended last year for trying to get a Wicca coven started at school._

_I have my own friends. Isobel's moved away, and I don't see much of Jasmine (she is a very extracurricular person), but when I do see her, at least she's stopped acting like an entirely different person around Kevin. I kept myself braced for That Question, the one I was sure they would ask. I had an excuse ready that was only partly a lie. ("Yeah, I think his parents sent him away to school somewhere, we kept in touch all through last year, if he came home for the summer I sure didn't see him.") But they act like he never existed. They didn't call me on the rumors that started last year; Isobel, whom I actually told, didn't even say a word. I don't know whether to be grateful or scared._

_Actually, I'm sort of starting to understand how Jasmine can act so silly when she talks about her one true love. There are times when Reese makes me feel almost that giddy. I didn't think he'd possibly understand when I ran out on him at the party last summer, but, apparently, he's seen weirder. He's not one of our crowd, and until we were paired together in chorus last year, I only knew that he was the suffering-artist type and that lots of other girls had well-deserved crushes on him. Since then, I've learned that he's nice and interesting and charming as well as cute. We don't play those stupid couple-games in the hallways (wrestling, keep-away, tickling, biting). I'll never understand why people do that in front of people!_

_We have three classes together -- Pop Lit, chorus, and horrible, disgusting P.E. I used to think that whoever thought of making gym classes coed should be shot, but now I'm almost glad that they are. The other guys in the class are divided between the jocks and the flinchers (who, true to their name, cringe whenever someone passes them the ball and apologize whenever they miss). The girls worry about basketball messing up their hair. But, like I said, I might even survive now. Love can do that to you. We pick each other first for basketball, diss Ms. Dawson when she's not looking. He's on the track team and thinks I should try out, too. That I look like I'm pretty good at running. Sometimes I think maybe he's right about that._

_**_

_September 7_

_You are not going to believe this. I can barely believe it myself. Delia Foxworth, from down the street, came to our door today. "Do you care about the mutant problem?"_

_"I didn't even know that it was a problem," I said. I guess I don't deserve any points for sounding cool, especially since it was a lie._

_She looked vaguely annoyed. "You do realize what is going on here, don't you?" Then she handed me a piece of paper. "It's all in here. Tell your friends. We're thinking of speaking at the high school if things get too serious."_

_I took one glance at the leaflet and didn't need to read anymore. The one thing that stuck in my mind was the word "trust." They say that we can't trust mutants. I'm not sure where they got the idea that humans have ever really trusted each other. But I guess it's band-together-to-face-the-greater-threat time. What joy. And I always thought Ms. Foxworth was kind of nice, even though she's a little strange, and her daughter has been classified as "unstable" (this picked up outside the guidance office while I waited to fix a glitch in my schedule). Delia even said she could get Angelina an internship at the _Inside Edge_._

_But she looked all huffy when I handed the paper back to her. "You need to choose what side you're on," she informed me. And left._

_I guess that she's right, too._


	5. Gilded Cage

Chapter 4: Gilded Cage  
  
This totally sucks, Stephen announced at lunch.  
  
I hear you. Bobby poked at his asparagus. There are aliens among us, and they wear hairnets and hand out lunch trays with their own otherwordly concoctions.  
  
'Otherwordly?' Jubilee repeated. That doesn't sound like a you' kind of word.  
  
Let's just say I'm full of surprises.  
  
I wasn't even talking about that food. I mean that we can't talk to anyone here.  
  
I don't like it, much, either, Amara put in. But it's for the best. We don't want to call attention to ourselves.  
  
Kitty doesn't seem very happy, Jubilee said sadly, pointing. The girl in question sat at a table with Kurt, who looked like he was trying desperately to get a laugh out of her. He was failing miserably; she kept sneaking looks over at the Brotherhood table, where Lance was deep in conversation with a dark-haired, melancholy-looking girl who, as far as the Goth look was concerned, put Rogue to shame. You know, things were really starting to get going between her and Lance. And now they can't see each other anymore. He hasn't even made any moves, and everyone thought that he would.   
  
We have a problem, Jean announced, sitting down at the table.  
  
CNN: Breaking News, Bobby said dryly. The others laughed.  
  
I'm serious, Iceman, she snapped. It's about Mr. Kelly. He called me into his office today and started asking me all these questions about, you know, the kinds of things that went on last year. I guess we don't really have to worry about the soccer game, but he was at the dance, too, and I was one of the ones using my power to stop those monsters from attacking Duncan.  
  
That's not good, said Sam.  
  
It gets worse. Don't you remember what Jubilee and Kitty said? Mr. Kelly's part of this new group. He's already talked to some of the other kids about it. And he suspects something at the very least.  
  
So, what did you say?  
  
I said that I didn't know anything about it. I thought about changing his memories, but I didn't know how the professor would react to that. She stared at her hands, and the others exchanged glances. They had never seen Jean look uncomfortable before. It was only a second before she recovered. He told you what to do now that people are on Freak Watch, right?  
  
Lay low and stay visible, Stephen supplied.  
  
Exactly. But... She swallowed. We're starting to think that might not be good enough anymore. Do you remember what you said when he gave you those instructions?  
  
I said, What's the point of even going to school if we have to pretend like we don't exist?'  
  
She nodded.   
  
**  
You're going to pull us out of school? Evan sounded incredulous. All of us? Won't that seem, you know, a little suspicious?  
  
You're not planning to make everyone forget ve vere ever zere, are you? Kurt asked worriedly, obviously thinking of Amanda.  
  
I doubt that will be necessary, Xavier said. He smied reassuringly, but it didn't reach his eyes. If it gets to the point where you are forced to leave school, I will simply tell Principal Kelly that in light of the rumors that are circulating now about mutants, it would be best not to expose my gifted charges to unfair, premature assumptions.  
  
And you think that won't make him suspicious?  
  
I sincerely hope not. Ororo, Logan, Scott, Hank, and myself would tutor you here at the Institute in addition to your training sessions in the Danger Room. Evan, Kitty, and Jean would have to make the necessary adjustments with their parents. And you would still be allowed to associate with your friends at school. He paused for effect. There are times when I wish I could erase the truth from the minds of an entire population, but even I know now that it is time to face the truth.   
  
**  
  
_You mean you've never skipped a rock before?  
  
Nope. It looks too complicated.  
  
It's just like throwing a Frisbee. No, you don't hold it like that, you hold it like this. Thumb on the outside. Now try.  
  
One... two. That's pretty lame, Phoebe.  
  
You were chucking it, not flicking it. It's all in the wrist..._  
  
The flat stone skittered across the surface of Breakstone Lake. Stephen counted five skips before it plopped into the water and sunk.  
  
He knew what was going on now. It was impossible to ignore. Kurt had heard from his girlfriend that some of the other kids had asked Principal Kelly what the deal was with these Friends of Humanity, and whether anyone could join. It would probably be better if they went to school at the Institute full-time. Stephen had never bought into the high-school scene; ever since he'd arrived, he'd stuck with the other New Mutants who had enough control to be in a normal setting, especially Bobby, Kurt, and Jubilee. So it wouldn't really make any difference. The transition would be easy.  
  
Trying to explain it to his parents would be something else altogether.   
  
It had been a long, hot, boring summer, with just Xavier, Hank, Scott, and Rogue for company. Nobody had pressed him about why he hadn't gone home like everyone else. That was one of the nice things about living at this place -- nobody asked too many inconvenient questions. And it was easy for them to accept that he felt like a stranger whenever he was with his family. His parents... well, let's face it. They were prejudiced. Not violently bigoted, but there were plenty of other kinds. Instead of lashing out, they preferred to pretend everything was normal. Once, that had been Stephen's dearest wish. To be normal. Once, he would have been perfectly content for his parents to keep referring to his or or, most infuriatingly of all, Because he had believed it himself.  
  
No more.  
  
It wasn't like he had any doubt that they still loved him. Or that they wanted to protect him. But they had also taught themselves to hide from the truth. Maybe it was their way of coping. Like Phoebe's way of coping had been to make a break for it, to run from anything the least bit unusual and unfamiliar. He should have been as disgusted with her as he was with his parents, even though she, at least, hadn't tried to pretend.  
  
The idea that she didn't trust him anymore was so far out there that it was almost laughable. They had been inseparable since sixth grade, understanding and sympathizing with each other's family situations. He had taught her how to play Ultimate Frisbee (the only athletic thing he was really good at), convinced her to stop reading V.C. Andrews, and promised not to tell anyone when she told him that she liked to hide in lockers. In turn, she had defended him against bullies and high-school social Darwinists and laughed at all his jokes (even the stupid ones). She had once sworn to stick by him, no matter what.  
  
And somewhere between the eighth-grade Halloween dance and her first date with smelly Jerry Vincent, he had started seeing her as something besides a friend. The last time he had seen her, he hadn't dug deeply enough to find out whether she felt the same way. Maybe if he had, he would have been able to get a clue as to why she'd reacted to Xavier the way she had.  
  
_Stay out of my head, you creep. I mean it._  
  
But he hadn't meant to do anything. She'd threatened to take them down, and it made sense that someone had to make sure she wasn't serious. Which she wasn't. After all, she wasn't even a mutant. What could she do?  
  
_The fear of humanity can be a very powerful force.  
_  
No way. She might be confused, but so was everyone right now. She might have been put off by what was really going on at the Institute (why _had_ he told her, anyway?), but that was sort of understandable. Xavier might have scared her, but he _had_ entered her mind without permission -- twice. Being a telepath himself, Stephen had become somewhat desensitized in the year that he'd lived here. Could he really have forgotten how strange it felt to have someone else invading your private thoughts?  
  
That was the reason she had run.  
  
That was why she was scared.  
  
That was all.  
  
And she'd see the light eventually... right? When she had called him only recently, he thought she finally had. Instead, she'd spilled some crazy story that he couldn't possibly accept.  
  
The rays of the dying sun glimmered off the lake. He stared at his reflection (tall, lanky frame encased in a the black-and-gold uniform that he hadn't bothered to change out of; ordinary-looking face; intractable light-brown hair), remembering the Greek myth (or was it a play?) about the guy who gazed at himself so long that his reflection consumed him. Or something. And his girlfriend had pined away until all that was left of her was her beautiful voice.  
  
The rock he'd picked up would be good for at least six skips. But instead of flicking it, he chucked it into the water with all his might.  
  
  
  



	6. The Healing Process

A/N: Jimaine did mention that Phoebe was in serious need of a slap across the face. Maybe so. I made some small changes to previous chapters, and they will lead up to the continuing anti-Xavier-ness.   
  
Chapter 5: The Healing Process  
  
_September 14  
  
Parties. They've never really been my thing. To me, a satisfactory Saturday night includes a good book, preferably involving a fantasy world populated by brave young girls of which I am definitely not one; sappy romance dedications on my favorite radio station; and chocolate-covered orange rinds. Maybe a bubble bath thrown into the mix, if I'm alone in the house.  
  
But Reese invited me to a shindig at Christina Ryan's, and it was imperative that I go. Angelina picked out my outfit. It made me look like a harlot.  
  
She read over my shoulder what I've just written, and demanded to know if I'd gotten back into V.C. Andrews. Okay, Angel, it made me look like a slut. Satisfied?  
  
Anyway. Reese and Damian picked me up. Damian owns the coolest car in Wallglass -- make that the only cool car in Wallglass. His brother bought and restored it, remembered that he couldn't drive, and passed it on. Reese complimented me on the outfit, but I still think he thought it was a bit much. I giggled in all the right places, blushed in all the right places, and it was the most tiring thing I've ever done. And this was before we even got to the party.  
  
Cindy, Christina, Karen, and Natalie, dressed to maim if not necessarily kill, actually flounced toward me the second we walked in. I pay attention around school, you realize. I've heard the whispers, seen my name scratched on the insides of bathroom stall doors. The initials ND + RL in a heart, and the words No good Nat he's with Phoebe scrawled below it. In different handwriting, She's so lucky.  
  
I know that I am. Reese is already the hottest guy in school -- have I mentioned that? -- and the fact that he dresses all in black and plays the guitar ups is Damn Sexy Factor (DSF) at least twofold. I happen to know that he's especially attractive to the lowerclasspersons, you know, the ones who bleach their hair blond and wear jeans that are at least 95% glitter. But he chose me. That should make me feel great. This time last year, it was all I could have asked for.  
  
Of course, this time last year, I had never even heard the word in any context that could be taken seriously.  
  
Now, it's popping up all over the place, including right there at the party from the Ineffable Jeff. He came over and took Cindy's arm possessively -- he dumped his girlfriend for her last year, which may have been what kept the rumors about Stephen from becoming big news. Karen made a huffing noise and went off to chase someone else.  
  
Jeff said, bobbing his head at Reese and me.  
  
We gave noncommittal greetings.  
  
Looks like you got lucky there, Reese, he went on. What's she like... you know where?  
  
I told him to leave us be. He didn't. I should warn you, man. She only likes freaks.  
  
I repeated in what I sure hoped was a dangerous voice.  
  
Freaks. Muties. Right now, the Friends of Humanity are our best defense, you know? They know what's going on. They know that the freaks want to move in on us, and the people who hang out with them are only helping it along. His gaze bobbed up to meet mine. Well, you're not helping'em any. Or us. Glad you're sticking with your own kind.  
  
I uttered two words in his general direction. The first one would probably burn this page, and the second one was When he obliged, I instructed myself to breathe both ways. Told myself that Jeff had thought Stephen was a freak for years. Told myself that he didn't remember anything. Told myself that I was going to make it through at least one of these sorts of parties. It didn't help. I knew I had to get out of there.   
  
**  
  
September 18  
  
Unbelievable.  
  
Joanne got home after a triple shift and came straight up to knock on my door. I had to do a reality check for a minute: she never comes into my room. I'm not even sure she knows what the inside of it looks like. And Angelina's room is, as far as either of them are concerned, the Forbidden City.  
  
Wait, that's not the unbelievable part.  
  
I have something to tell you, Phoebe, she said solemnly.  
  
Pregnancy? Divorce from the Bleached Frog? Her being the newest member of that group, what's-it-called, the Friends of Humanity? Since Charity was her best friend, I kind of doubted it, but maybe Andrew talked her into it. He seems like the type. But I was wrong on all three counts.  
  
There's a friend of mine who frequently comes to Shelley's for lunch. She's a psychologist who specializes in adolescent trauma. I've also read about her in a magazine, and I liked what I saw. I made some kind of motion for her to go on, which she did. I called her and made an appointment for this Friday.  
  
I knew that my mom liked to delude herself sometimes into thinking she was still a teenager, but this was ridiculous. I made the go-on motion again.  
  
She's very interested in meeting with you.  
  
Oh.  
  
I know that you don't feel like you can talk to people about what happened between you and Stephen, but I told her a little bit about the situation, and she was surprisingly sympathetic.  
  
You told her? I repeated.   
  
It's not like... Pause. Swallow. Like mutants are a big secret anymore, dear.  
  
How do you know you can trust her?  
  
She's there to listen to your feelings, dear, not grill you for information. Charity thinks it's a good idea, too. The two of you were so close, and there's obviously something that you don't feel like telling me. That's fine. But she says that she's willing to listen if you're willing to talk.  
  
**  
  
September 19  
  
I survived my appointment with my mother's therapist friend.  
  
Barely.  
  
She wasn't what I had expected, first of all. Wild curly black hair, pretty face with the kind of tan that you know doesn't come from the beach or a tanning salon. Kind of on the plump side, but she carries it off well. She wore a long dress, a fringed shawl, and awesome jewelry. I can't believe Joanne is friends with her, and I was tempted to ask her if she was a shrink or a fortune-teller. But I didn't. I just stood silent as she indicated the couch.  
  
What, do you want me to lie down? I asked.  
  
Not if you don't want to.  
  
So I sat, clutching my bag. I said next.  
  
  
  
How do you pronounce your last name? I made a try at it.   
  
You don't pronounce the S, she informed me. But you can call me Margali if you'd like.  
  
That's pretty. The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them.  
  
Thanks. So is yours. Goddess of the moon, right? So, tell me a little bit about why you're here.  
  
It was my mom's idea. More like my mom's royal command. She seemed to think it would help.  
  
What do you think? she asked me. I should have seen this coming.  
  
I'm not sure that she wanted to know what I thought. That this is a waste of time would be putting it mildly. I don't know why I'm here. She obviously thinks she does. She'd wanted to come with me, sit on the couch beside me, and carry on conversations with this lady as if I'm another piece of furniture. Maybe the lamp in the corner with the transparent shade. Or the Gilbert Williams painting on the wall. Or maybe the picture on Margali's desk, of a smiling dark-skinned girl about my age.  
  
She read my life history aloud off her clipboard. How my parents divorced when I was seven, how our mother had been married several times since then, how we had once lived with Uncle Mark and Aunt Catherine while she went off to a commune to find herself. She paused now and then so I could nod yes, as if she suspected that Joanne might have been lying.   
  
That made me like her a little, but I still wasn't going to say any more than I had to, especially if she got onto the subject of last year. I'm not that good at saying what's on my mind. I could say that it's because the last time I did, the most important person in the world to me made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with me... and the time before that, someone tried to erase my memory. But it's never been easy.  
  
Did you like any of your mother's subsequent partners? she asked finally.  
  
  
  
  
  
I shrugged. She just made bad choices.  
  
Did you feel that any of them tried to replace your father?  
  
  
  
Were you close with your father?  
  
Yeah. We were little. Angelina was closer with him, I think.  
  
And you got along better with your mother, she said.  
  
I put up with her. This isn't so bad. I don't want to encourage her, but I have to know. Didn't she give some reason for me to come here?  
  
She gave the impression that you had been through a lot. Did the mention that she was the cause of that misfortune? I wanted to ask. And that the events of last year weren't something you particularly wanted to face yet. So we're leading up to them. Okay? When I didn't answer, she decided that it was very okay.  
  
I don't know how she got the idea that there was more to me than met the eye, but at the end of the those were her exact words. Joanne seemed to agree with her. I'm going back there next week.  
  
**  
  
Just woke up. My hand's shaking so badly that it missed the light switch the first time, and it's a good thing nobody's ever going to read this.  
  
Nightmares stopped for a while, but started again after the last conversation I had with Mr. Hotshot X-Man. I didn't mean that. Yes I did. No I didn't.  
  
First I didn't remember the dreams, just woke up knowing that they were back. Then I started holding onto what I heard him say. I don't know why.  
  
Did I hear you say you wanted to forget, he asked me. I thought you had made it clear that you did not.  
  
Or, Yes, child, go on with your normal life. Hide from the truth. Sit on the fence forever. See where it gets you. You may not think much of Stephen's choices, but at least he made a choice.  
  
Or sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, just picks through my mind and laughs and laughs.  
  
When I used to babysit Violet, she would wake up screaming about strange creatures in the closet. I would turn on the light, open the closet door, and tell her that there was nothing there to hurt her. She said not to open it again when it was dark, because the monster could get inside her head. I would tell her that there were no monsters that could do that.  
  
Now I know better._


	7. What Dark Time Is Coming

Chapter 4: What Dark Time Is Coming  
  
_I think I can be good at this. So does everybody else.  
  
At controlling people's minds.  
  
It's for the greater good.  
  
How do you know?  
  
Xavier said so.  
  
Xavier is wrong._  
  
He hadn't understood. He still didn't understand. He had thought that she cared about him. Hadn't she realized that this was the best thing that had ever happened to him?  
  
Apparently not. He'd done like Xavier had said and not chased after her, but he had called her that evening, praying that she'd be home.  
  
_Look, Phoebe, I understand. You were freaked.  
  
You act like I'm the one who should be apologizing.  
  
What are you talking about?  
  
You should know. You were there.  
  
I was where?  
  
There, in that office of his, while he was trying to erase my mind. And you just sat there. Why?  
  
He was trying to do what?  
  
You heard me.  
  
And I don't believe you. I know you don't like him, but...  
  
_But not only would the professor never do a thing like that -- at least not without a really good reason -- but he also wouldn't lie about it. After some misunderstanding last year about Mystique and the lady who had been principal before Smelly Kelly, he had always tried to be straight with everyone else at the Institute. And if he had a reason to erase someone's memory, he would tell the person who had known her best... right?  
  
Stephen couldn't take it anymore. The conversation haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He tossed the covers aside and tiptoed out into the hall, careful not to make too much noise.  
  
**  
  
In the next bed, Rogue stirred -- Kitty crossed her fingers -- and then settled down again.  
  
She should probably have told her roommate, at least, just to make absolutely sure that if Rogue should wake up and find her gone, she wouldn't panic and go running to Xavier. She probably wouldn't if she knew where Kitty was going, which was more than she could say for anyone else in the mansion. In fact, if they knew where she was going, they probably would probably call an Emergency Straightening-Shadowcat-Out Meeting.  
  
At first, she told herself that she'd been imagining the footsteps, but she heard them after she had phased through the door of their room and again when she was almost at the stairs. Who could be awake this late? Scott had kept Rahne and Jamie in the Danger Room long after everyone else had gone to bed, but even they had finally called it quits. She had just convinced herself again that she was hearing things when someone behind her whispered, Who's there?  
  
She turned. It was Stephen, wearing boxers with exclamation points printed on them and a T-shirt that said _You're Depriving Some Poor Village Of Its Idiot_. His sandy hair was mussed, and he was clearly surprised to see her.   
  
she replied, trying to sound casual and to think calm, of-course-I'm-up-after-midnight thoughts. What are you doing up?  
  
Getting some water. I couldn't sleep. You? Now he could see a little more. You're dressed.  
  
She looked down. How about that?  
  
Where are you going?  
  
Going? Like, why would you think I was going anywhere?  
  
You're wearing all black. Like some kind of cat burglar.  
  
Nice pun, she said, smiling nervously.  
  
What pun? Oh. So, what are you, going to knock over the bank or something? She didn't answer. Come on, you can tell me. I won't rat you out... wait a minute. You're going to see Lance, aren't you?  
  
Why would you think that?  
  
  
  
No fair!  
  
I thought the two of you were over.  
  
We're just meeting somewhere to talk, she explained, and it's not like we can do it in school. He wants to... I mean, he thinks it's really stupid that Mystique just came back and suddenly everything had to be like it was. And he wants to see if there's, like, some way we can get around that.  
  
Won't he get in trouble?  
  
He's willing to risk it. Her smile was still nervous, but now it was brave as well. So am I. You have to promise, promise, that the professor won't find out about this.  
  
I can promise that I won't tell him, Stephen assured her. I can't promise that he won't find out.  
  
I'll be careful. And -- I mean this in the nicest possible way, since you're one of Jubilee's friends -- if you do tell him, I think you'll find it very hard to go inside other people's heads when your own isn't attached.  
  
Got it.  
  
Can I ask you a question?  
  
Of course, he said sincerely.  
  
Wise to his tricks, she narrowed her eyes. Will you answer?  
  
  
  
I figured that you would to blabbing the whole thing to Xavier as soon as you saw me out of bed. Scott or Jean would, for sure. I'm supposed to be the good girl. So why are you keeping quiet? Is it because of that girl?  
  
he said again.  
  
You have to be careful, now. People won't just ignore her if she tells them that mutants are real. She crept closer, tentatively. Can you keep another secret? If you say maybe,' I'll kick your ass whether you tell anyone about me and Lance or not.  
  
It depends on what it is.  
  
It's about her.  
  
Then, yes, Stephen said immediately.  
  
I thought so. I, like, overheard Ororo and Logan and Xavier talking the other day about how they were going to manage things now that we're going to be in school here full-time. I guess the conversation turned to people who have connections on the outside. Like me and Evan and Jean. And you.  
  
I'm listening. So she was like, What about Messiah's hometown girlfriend?' and Logan was like, She won't do us any harm, she's too afraid of us,' and Xavier was like, Exactly. I believed that she was too insecure to do anything serious, but now I fear that that insecurity could be her downfall. And ours.'  
  
What else did you hear?  
  
Keep your voice down! That's all. I shouldn't have told you, but I guess all I'm saying is, be careful. I gotta go before Rogue wakes up and finds out. See you in the morning. And she headed for the darkness of the stairs.


	8. Let It Out

Chapter 7: Let It Out  
  
A glowing ember  
Burning hot, burning slow  
And deep within, I'm shaken  
By the violence of existing  
For only you  
I know I can't be with you  
I do what I have to do...  
...But I have the sense to recognize  
That I don't know how to let you go.  
-- Sarah McLachlan   
  
Violet entered the house only to have Charity swoop down on her. "Where were you?"  
  
"I went to Nina's. We helped each other with our homework." This was true, although they had done more talking and listening to the Backstreet Boys than studying (or was it N Sync? She could never tell them apart), and she thought she finally had a handle on those impossible fractions. It was no good asking the teacher for help -- he wasn't called Darth Ryder for nothing.  
  
"We're having dinner with Ms. Lyman tonight. I thought I told you that."  
  
"We as in who?" Ms. Lyman was the executive producer of _Nebula Vista_. She treated Darren's ideas with a sort of reluctant indulgence, as if she thought he might throw a tantrum if she didn't okay them. The one time she'd eaten dinner at their house, she'd looked at the dust on the windowsill as if it might magically leap up onto her immaculate pearl-gray suit.  
  
"Your father and I, of course."  
  
"So I'm staying here with a baby-sitter?" Violet surmised.  
  
"Yes. She should be at about eight."  
  
"I'm too old for baby-sitters."  
  
"You're ten. That's nowhere near too old."  
  
This was true; Nina still wasn't allowed to be in the house by herself, and didn't even seem to mind, but one didn't backslide when one was trying to make a point. The last baby-sitter had pranced straight to the phone the second Charity and Darren were out of sight. There she had remained for three hours straight. "But --"  
  
"But what if it were Phoebe?"  
  
"Really?" Violet could hardly believe it. Her family had hardly spoken with their once-best friends in months -- something to do with something that Phoebe had said to Charity last winter. Maybe they had finally -- what was the expression her grandmother favored so much? -- buried the hatchet. She hoped so, remembering how much fun she used to have spending time with Phoebe -- making the perfect batch of chocolate-chip cookies, seeking out old movies on their seemingly endless supply of TV channels. On one memorable occasion, they had found some scripts from the soap opera's earliest days and very melodramatically acted them out.  
  
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" she shouted to nobody in particular, really, truly excited for the first time since she could remember.  
  
**  
  
"You want to play a game?" Phoebe suggested. "Scrabble? Monopoly?"  
  
"Checkers," Violet said immediately. "I've been practicing."  
  
"Practicing against who? Nina? Your parents?"  
  
"Don't I wish," Violet said ruefully as they set up the board. "Dad's always at work" -- she mimicked typing on a keyboard -- "and Mom doesn't like board games, especially ones that make you think too much. I've been playing online. You can go to this room and challenge other players, and the more games you play, the more it boosts your rating."  
  
"You go first. So, what's your rating?"  
  
"Haven't got one yet. I'm just provincial." At Phoebe's puzzled look, she continued. "Means that I haven't even won enough to even be considered a real player. We get into conversations while we're trying to kick each other's asses, even though they speak in some kind of code."  
  
"Ah. Crazy Online Language?" Now it was Violet's turn to draw a blank. "You know. Addresses are 'addies.' 'LOL' or 'ROTFL' means something's funny. And there are emoticons -- you know, little punctuation marks that make up faces -- for everything. Am I right?"  
  
"Exactly. It's like they can't be bothered to say the whole thing." She made a face. "But they're a lot nicer than the kids at school."  
  
"You don't like school?" Phoebe said sympathetically as Violet swiftly triple-jumped her.  
  
"I hate it. The other kids think I'm stuck up because I get better grades than they do and get those dumb Good Citizen awards. This one girl -- Gabrielle -- started making these lists of who liked who. Elena + Howie equals love. Gabby + Ryan equals love. And next to my name, she wrote, 'Violet plus nobody equals nothing.' It's not like I asked to be this way." She realized who she reminded herself of, and fell silent.  
  
"I don't like school, either," Phoebe confessed.  
  
"For real?"  
  
"For real."  
  
"But you're in _high school_. You have a lot of friends and you're going out with a great guy, right?"  
  
"Isobel's gone, remember? And Jasmine and Kevin are too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to anything else. And Reese and I... you know how movie stars and singers can never do anything without being all over the tabloids? That's how I feel sometimes."  
  
"I thought _you_ wanted to be a singer."  
  
"I still do. Sometimes. I know I should do Something with my life. Something sensible. But nothing's ever made sense before. Why should it start making sense as soon as I get out of school?" She smiled. "Sorry, Vi. I'm babbling. It's true that you don't get -- singled out, I guess -- as much as you do in grade school, but you're also constantly reminded that you're not a kid anymore, and there's even less of an excuse not to follow the crowd. If you do get singled out, it's because you did something to make yourself seem... not normal."  
  
"Who wants to be normal?"  
  
"I thought that, too. And I still try to think it, if you know what I mean. But you end up wanting to be normal whether you like it or not, because the ones who step out of line are the ones who get hurt."  
  
"_Phoebe_. I know about _that_."  
  
The smile didn't exactly turn upside down, but it did fray a little at the corners like the edges of ripped jeans. "I guess you do."  
  
The subject turned to the Harry Potter books, of which, to Violet's resurging surprise, Phoebe was a great fan. She agreed that the third one was the best and the second definitely the worst, and the movie was terrible too, but what could you expect from a guy raised in a household where it was okay to name your kid Chris Columbus?  
  
By the time Violet had challenged Phoebe to six games (and won five), it was already getting dark. They raided the spice cabinet to jazz up the bland noodle casserole that Charity had left in the fridge, and vigorously attacked the mint-chocolate-cookie ice cream in the freezer. If she were to give this evening a Closing Sentence (in the words of last year's frighteningly peppy teacher), it would be, "Finally, it was like old times again."  
  
**  
  
_September 20  
  
It's so weird, being in this house again. At first, it felt like I was baby-sitting for strangers. Charity showed me where the emergency numbers would be, like they were in a different place than all the other times I looked after Vi, and acted all stiff around me, flinching every time I opened my mouth. I bet she hasn't done that with whatever sitter has been hanging here in the meantime.  
  
Violet seems okay, not totally oblivious to her parents' behavior, but willingly ignoring it. Smart move. I also learned that she hates school, which surprised me at first (she gets good grades and seems to have a lot of friends), before I remembered that fifth grade is when kids start really choosing their own friends, usually the choices they make are for the totally wrong reasons, and good grades are rarely -- if ever -- on that list of reasons. Oh, Vi has other things going for her; she's remarkably grown-up, has been for as long as I've known her, and doesn't know how to hold grudges, unlike half the girls I knew when I was ten. Of course, they'll probably view her maturity as snobbiness and her sweet personality as "goody-goody." When it comes to girls like that, there's just no winning. So it's hard to understand why anyone would want to be friends with them, even though it isn't impossible.   
  
She seems to think that all her problems will be solved once she gets to high school. I tried to make her see that it might get easier in some ways, but chances are, she's going to have a whole set of new ones. I didn't mention the teachers that say stuff like, "You think this is tought, wait until you're in college," the feeble attempts at boosting school spirit, or the fact that a small group of kids have begun coming to school with FOH pins on their jackets, including -- you guessed it -- the Ineffable Jeff.  
  
They're on the news right now -- the Friends of Humanity, I mean. Apparently, they're getting a lot of airtime with their whole "mutant menace" schtick. I want to change the channel, but it's a little like when you see a car accident by the side of the road, horrible, but you can't look away. "We don't aim to enforce the superiority of humanity," their spokesperson is saying. "But we refuse to succomb to inferiority! They give us a choice: die out, or adapt on their terms. Why should they be the ones to decide?" Those mixed emotions are coming back: confusion as to how so many people could be so gullible, anger that someone could sway people to believe in something that he obviously knows nothing about, and fear for the mutants that I'm connected to. Okay, just one. If that.  
  
Except the connection is still there, sort of. No matter what_  
  
She threw down her notebook when she heard a scream from upstairs.  
  
All her previous musings about Violet's all-encompassing maturity evaporated when she saw the her sitting up in bed, tears streaking her face, and looking like someone much, much younger than ten.  
  
"What's wrong, Vi? What happened?" She sat on the bed. "Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
"I couldn't keep him out of my head," Violet whispered, clutching her stuffed dragon closer. "Make it stop."  
  
"You couldn't keep who out?" Phoebe asked, but she knew the answer even before she finished asking the question.


	9. Head Games

A/N: Cute idea, The Truth. Actually, I was considering Time Out Of Mind for the next one, but I'm still open to suggestions. And Jilly, I borrowed the concept of mental markers from you. Hope you don't mind!  
  
Chapter 8: Head Games  
  
The eight students closed their chemistry books, and as they made for the door, one of them paused uncertainly.  
  
You coming, Steve? Bobby asked.  
  
Hang on. I have to talk to the professor about something.  
  
Jubilee looked like she understood. Good luck, she mouthed. Stephen shot her a Look.  
  
What is it you wanted to talk to me about? Professor Xavier asked, even though he already had a fairly good idea. You are adjusting to the new learning environment, I hope. Not a few of his friends had been grumbling about it, and not a few of their complaints had contained phrases such as house arrest. They didn't yet seem to see that it was necessary for them to hide, at least until the hysteria died down. And die down he was sure it would, even if he had to extinguish it himself, although he hoped that it would not come to that.  
  
I guess. I heard that you were talking to Kitty, Jean, and Evan about their, um, situations at home. What about the rest of us?  
  
Ah, yes. Have you spoken with your parents about the change?  
  
They say, whatever's best. Stephen grimaced, as if he were remembering something extremely unpleasant. His connections with his family had been fraying ever since he had accidentally -- or so he thought -- meddled with his relatives' memories at a particularly tense Christmas party. He doubtlessly believed that this incident further separated him from the outside world, even though he had been assured (and more truthfully than he would ever guess) that it was not his fault.  
  
And your friends?  
  
Well, um. Stephen shifted his feet. I haven't really been talking to them, he admitted. Not even Phoebe. But I heard someone say that they thought she might be, you know, a problem. Because she knows about the Institute.  
  
Do _you_ see her as a risk to the school's safety?  
  
But, as he had expected, Xavier could see the doubts rising in the boy's consciousness. You aren't going to... you know, do what you did to those people at the soccer game. Are you?  
  
What would you think about that?   
  
She told me that you tried to do that while she was here. The words came tumbling out in a rush. I didn't believe her. Because you said that you didn't. You said that all you were doing was making sure she wouldn't try to hurt us.  
  
Miss Corlisle exhibited a frighteningly hostile and frightened personality. If you had probed her mind yourself, you would have been shocked at how much she has changed from the girl you once knew. And she was also unable to accept the way _you_ have changed. I felt justified in taking that away from her. But since I was positive that nobody would believe her if she did tell them, I let the matter drop. I am, as you know, confident in humanity's ability to adapt and move forward.  
  
But now... Stephen prompted him.  
  
The possibility has occurred to me, but I wouldn't proceed without your sanction. I wouldn't have to remove her memories of you, only of her disastrous visit. You know her better than anyone here. I will ask you again: do you think she would share what she knows with our enemies?  
  
  
  
Very well, then. Xavier gazed at him sharply. Out of curiosity, are you saying that because it is true, or because of your feelings for the young lady?  
  
Another step back. What feelings?  
  
It's not as if it isn't obvious that you are in love with her. Even your friends have noticed it.  
  
_None of your business._ I know her well enough to be sure. That's all.  
  
I believe you, Xavier said gently. There is no reason to become defensive. I just wanted to make sure that your emotions don't get in the way of your judgment. You are, after all, an X-Man, and you would do well to remember your priorities.  
  
I understand.  
  
You would also do well to hurry to lunch before your friends send out a search party.  
  
When he was alone again, Xavier sat back and sighed. That had been a close one. But the ultimate test of loyalty had been presented, and Stephen had passed it with flying colors.  
  
Of course, he didn't know the whole story. How would he react if he knew that Xavier had been paying occasional mental visits to Miss Corlisle while she slept, gauging the state of her thoughts and emotions, making absolutely sure that she would not, indeed, tell anyone? That he had imprinted on her mind during the psychic battle last spring, so it would be very easy to find her again? He had been waiting for a chance to study the reaction of a normal human who knew the full truth, who had to live with the uncertainty that her position presented. This girl had provided the perfect opportunity.  
  
If her fear became more of a liability than an asset, there were ways of fixing that.  
  
And if Stephen became disillusioned, well, so had the others been, at first. Even Cyclops.  
  
There was one more thing he wasn't aware of -- that he wasn't alone in wondering what an old friend thought of the current situation. Xavier had been keeping one ear to the ground concerning Erik's current activities, but hadn't been able to pick up the slightest clue as to what the Master of Magnetism was up to. Would he approve of the change in the operations of the Institute, or would he consider it another excercise in futility? And, more importantly, what action was he taking with his own disciples?  
  
And could the X-Men actually deal with two -- possibly three -- threats at once?  
  
It was almost definite that they could. They had been complaining that they never seemed to be training for anything. Soon, they would know that it hadn't been for nothing. He hoped they would appreciate what he had done to get them this far.  
  



	10. Nothing Ventured

Chapter 9: Nothing Ventured

**

_It's late but I think I have to write this. Vi had a wicked nightmare about while I was baby-sitting her. She was screaming about people trying to get inside her head. She wouldn't tell me all the details, but I could pretty much guess. I told her that I'd been having dreams about him, too, and that they were probably a reaction to all the talk about mutants that's been popping up lately. That there was no way he was trying to hurt her. Polls are still open for who I was better at convincing. Then I told her that if it even happened again, she could come to me and probably should. She asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep, so I did. That was how Charity and Darren found us when they got home._

_I don't think I could sleep now, anyway. Part of me is furious, wants to call him now, never mind how late it is, and scream into his ear, "Xavier is screwing with your little sister's head, you punk! What do you think now?" But he'll think I'm crazy like he did before, and anyway, I'm not absolutely sure that that's really what's going on. It could be anxiety in her place, pure and simple fear in mine._

_But if it's not_

_and if we have to tell someone_

_then it would convince them all the more that mutants are evil, and I think I don't think I'd have any choice but to spill everything._

_I've only been thinking about myself this whole time. I can only imagine what Violet had to go through last year, living in that house, feeling the uncertainty, the confusion, being told so many times that she didn't understand, that she was starting to believe it herself. I think it was only very reluctantly that she sat back and let her parents handle it. She learned before she was ready that grownups don't always know best. And most of her friends still believe what their parents tell them, which, as far as mutants are concerned, is nothing good._

_And now, it seems, not liking the household savior any more than I did. She sees me as the one person who understands, and the scariest thing is, I think she's right._

_**_

_September 21_

_Something to take my mind off the Violet situation, even though it's related and just as bad. Okay, here goes._

_My friends have gone mad. I found out today that they were at the big FOH rally that was on the news -- Kevin's parents dragged him along, and Jasmine went as his moral support. I had to ask: "Do you really believe what they're saying?"_

_Kevin: "Not really, but my parents do."_

_Jasmine: "It was pretty freaky. Be glad you weren't there. They were all waving light-sticks, you know, instead of torches, I guess. Some principal dude from Bayville got up in front of everyone and told them about mutants who had been terrorizing his school. And that Creed guy was standing up on this platform blabbering about how the existence of mutants was against God's will."_

_Me: "Not him again."_

_Jasmine: "Who, Mr. Creed or God?"_

_Me: "By now, I bet there are people around who wouldn't be able to tell you the difference."_

_It was a good line, and it worked all right, because they gave these solemn nods. But they also looked surprised, as if they weren't used to me saying something like that, or sharing my opinions at all._

_Kevin: "It's not like I believe that they're freaks of nature, or anything, but he's right -- the more we know about them, the better, the more we know about what they might do to us."_

_Me: "Which is what?"_

_Kevin: "You gotta admit, if I had powers like that, I would probably want to do some pretty serious damage. Name one person in our group -- in our class -- who wouldn't."_

_I could have, too. And I would have, but the name is stuck in my throat again because it hurts to mention him. It hurts to remind myself that he was once part of our group, that the two of us were once as close as Gerda and Kay in that story about the Snow Queen. Except now I'm the one whose heart has become a lump of ice._

_**_

_This is my second time talking to Margali, so I think I'm officially In Therapy. At Camp Argent, that phrase applied to two of the other girls, and although they didn't go into detail about the reasons, they carried their status as a badge of honor and quoted their therapists every chance they got. And of course their are the books, like I Never Promised You a Rose Garden, and the movies, like Good Will Hunting. (I clearly remember the Girls' Night In when the four of us watched that together. We unanimously voted Matt Damon the sexiest man in the universe.) My point? In each of those stories, the patient opens up completely, because the problems they have are actually the kind that you share with a therapist._

_I guess I've already made up my mind that this isn't going to do me any good. She figured out pretty quickly that I wasn't going to do a whole lot of talking unless she asked me a direct question. So she ended up asking me a lot of those._

_"So, do you feel ready to talk about last year?" she asked at some point._

_I shook my head._

_"We can lead up to it slowly. You've known each other since sixth grade. Up until then, you and your sister were so close that" -- she checked her clipboard -- "when I asked you questions about your childhood, you actually started your sentences with, 'we remember.'"_

_Have I been doing that? I know it sounds kind of silly, but when I think back on it, I realize that I have._

_"How did it feel to have a friend outside the family?"_

_That I could answer. "Pretty good."_

_"What did you like best about him? Don't think, just tell me."_

_Maybe if I had time to think about it, I would have said that he made me laugh. His imitations of the teachers. The way his nose wrinkled when he was upset, which wasn't often. But what popped out was, "He was predictable." Writing this, now, I'm wincing._

_Margali's eyebrows arched. "Predictable?" she repeated._

_Undo it, undo it. "Well, not predictable, exactly. More like, you know, dependable. I could always count on him."_

_"Count on him to do what?"_

_Did I need to spell it out for her? "To cheer me up. To listen." What happened to my resolution not to say anything? Was there some kind of confession-inducing gas in there? "To be there. Joanne kept coming up with a different way to search for perfect happiness, Angelina kept coming up with a different way to psych her out, and my teachers kept wanting different things from me."_

_"And then suddenly you had something constant in your life?"_

_"I guess." I prepare to clam up again._

_"Which is why you were so disillusioned when he had to leave."_

_"We don't talk about that!" I snap. "You promised."_

_"So you're trying to pretend it never happened."_

_"No." Can you believe this? "It did happen. And it's over. He's happy where he is, and I'm happy..."_

_"You don't sound very happy."_

_"Well, how do I sound, if you know so much?"_

_She adjusted her shawl. "Scared," she said simply. "Like I think you were scared when he first told you what he was."_

_"He didn't."_

_"Sorry. When you first found out."_

_"How much do you know, exactly?" I had to ask, okay?_

_"That you have a friend who's a mutant" -- points to her for saying the word without flinching -- "and his parents sent him to a different school. And I don't mean you were scared of him. Unless maybe you were."_

_"That's ridiculous." I ask again, can you believe this? "He was my best friend."_

_"But maybe you were scared of what it meant for him... and for the two of you."_

_I thought about the day we'd missed the bus, how I had backed away from him instinctively, then regretted it. I thought about the way I had shivered whenever he read my mind by accident. I thought about how he had said it was a human trait to be scared of what was different, like he wasn't one of us himself. That was what had scared me, maybe: that when he left, he was coming to terms with what he was, but leaving behind who he was. And whose fault was that? "I wanted what was best for him," I said lamely._

_"I know you did. And I think you know that we can't choose what we are."_

_"That wasn't the problem," I told her._

_"Then what was it?"_

_But I already clammed up again._

_"We got better results when you didn't think about what you were saying. Do you know the game where I say something, and you say the first thing that comes into your mind?"_

_"The classic shrink game."_

_"Maybe so. Clear your mind, okay?"_

_Panic. I'm an open book. Exposed. For just one second. Clear your mind. Not in this lifetime._

_"Night," she insisted._

_I complied. "Dark."_

_"Parents."_

_"Trust." Oh, boy, just write me up in your casebook and get it over with._

_"Sister."_

_"Angel."_

_"Her name, or what she is to you?" Margali asked with a smile._

_"Both, I guess. Hit me."_

_"School."_

_"Boring," I say immediately, and she laughs. I don't, but something inside me feels like I could._

_"House."_

_"Home." Fat chance._

_"Fear," she challenges._

_"Xavier." It took me a minute to realize that the name was there, out in the open. That minute felt like forever. I stared at my shoes._

_And that's when someone knocked at the door._

_"Who on earth..." Margali got up and opened the door._

_She was blocking my view of whoever it was, but I heard a female voice say, "Oh, God, are you with someone? I'm sorry... you told me..."_

_"It was last minute, honey. But we're almost done." She moved aside, so I could see the girl from the picture on the desk, standing in the doorway. "This is Phoebe. Phoebe, my daughter, Amanda. She was supposed to come visit me this weekend, and..."_

_"Supposed to?" Amanda said dryly. "I'm here, aren't I? It's okay, really. I can go across the street to the Burger Shed for a milkshake while I wait." She took out a wallet and opened it. Something fell out. She didn't seem to notice. "I think I have enough money."_

_I picked up what had fallen. It was a picture of a guy -- her boyfriend, maybe -- with shoulder-length dark hair and a mischievous smile. I squinted, and had time to realize that I had definitely seen this face before, when Amanda snatched it away. "Thanks."_

_'Sure." I'd definitely seen it before. This same exact face, but... different. Great, something else to bother me._


	11. Out in the Open

Chapter 10: Out in the Open  
  
Steve, chuck the gazoogie over here, Bobby ordered.  
  
Evan blinked.  
  
The gazoogie. You know.  
  
No, I really don't. Had too many Danger Room sessions finally driven his teammate up the wall? _Or maybe they gave him amnesia, so he's forgotten that I have no idea what that word means and that he is not, under any circumstances, to call me Steve._  
  
Bobby sighed. The remote control.  
  
Why do you call it that? Stephen asked as he picked up the remote and tossed it across the room.  
  
It's some weird thing that my dad used to say. He clicked on the vast TV. Tallk show... game show... chick flick... TV preacher... boring, boring, boring. Another chick flick. Another TV preacher.  
  
Stephen sat up. Click back to that last guy.  
  
Bobby stared at him quizically. Never would have guessed it, but it explains why you picked that codename.  
  
I didn't. It was Jubilee's idea. Shut it now. Listen.  
  
...claim to be the next step in human _evolution_, the preacher blared. They claim to be the result of a process that runs entirely counter to the _Word_ of _God_! What other choice do we have except to believe that these so-called mutants are _abominations_, with dark powers invested in them by a force not of this world, perhaps even by the _devil_ himself!  
  
I don't believe this, Jubilee said from the doorway.  
  
Me, too, dude, Evan contributed.  
  
Bobby didn't say anything, just stared at the screen.  
  
Hey, Popsicle, what's your malfunction? Jubilee asked, her voice still neutral.  
  
Turns out that people aren't too crazy about mutants in his town, Stephen whispered in her direction.  
  
Bobby didn't move his eyes away from the TV. You don't have to do that. I know it's true.  
  
Your parents... Evan began.  
  
'S not that I'm worried that they'd join up. It's what'll happen if they don't. They haven't mentioned anything in their letters, but I can tell.  
  
It's nobody's damn business who supports mutants and who doesn't, said Jubilee.  
  
You'd be surprised. I mean, we can't help what we are, but the few people who are actually okay with the situation... you know. What they think is their choice, and people can be prejudiced 'cause of that, too. I heard something about a big forum-type thing in Wallglass where they're going to talk about it.  
  
You mean, not about driving stakes through our hearts? Now she actually sounded surprised.  
  
No, they're actually going to talk about it. Like civilized human beings. Or at least that's how it's going to start, Bobby added darkly.  
  
Did you say Wallglass? Stephen asked suddenly.  
  
Evan clarified. Your hometown, right?  
  
Yeah. My parents will probably go.  
  
That's cool.  
  
With our luck, the Friends of Humanity'll decide to crash the party, said Bobby. And maybe Steve'll recognize a face or too there, too.  
  
Jubilee, for one, sensed it a second before it happened. _Don't let it get to you_, she thought.  
  
You don't understand. And she realized that he had been listening it.  
  
Well, she'd kick his ass for that later. Right now, she had to break up this scuffle before the scene got ugly. On the other hand, it might be fun to watch.  
  
What did you say? Stephen asked in a dangerous voice that she thought (although she wasn't sure) that he'd been practicing in front of a mirror.  
  
That girlfriend of yours.  
  
She's not my girlfriend. But what about her?  
  
How do you know she isn't with them?  
  
She's not.  
  
I'm not trying to diss her, Bobby insisted. I'm just _saying_ that you haven't even talked to her since last year. When, by the way, she freaked out as soon as she learned what we were really doing here. Man, I don't know why the professor didn't just wipe her memory like he planned to do.  
  
Like he planned to do? Stephen repeated. But he wasn't --  
  
He was. I don't know what he told you, but --  
  
But all of you know? Evan? Jubes?  
  
Jubilee looked away. She had known... not the whole thing, maybe, but at least as much as everyone else did. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear Xavier's words brushing across her mind. It turns out that she knows more than she should, he had said. And I plan to fix that if necessary. But she had assumed that Stephen knew, too. No wonder he still thought things could work out between him and what's-her-name.  
  
I don't know why he didn't just go ahead with it, Bobby said again. But I guess he has a reason.  
  
Why? Why does he have to have a reason?   
  
Well, he didn't tell _you_ right away because he didn't want you to have a spaz attack about it. He figured it would be a good idea to give you some time to get over her first, to get used to the fact that she's not your problem anymore.  
  
My _problem_, Stephen said flatly, rising from his chair. So that's what she is?  
  
Jubilee wondered if anyone would notice if she stole Evan's bag of popcorn and munched it while she watched this. Then she mentally kicked herself. Amusing as this was, there was no way it could possibly end well.  
  
Now that there are people who'll listen to her, she's everyone's problem.  
  
She wouldn't do a thing like that.  
  
Are you still on that? Bobby rolled his eyes. Maybe you're right. Maybe she wouldn't. But it's not like you know for sure. All I'm saying is that she's part of your old life. You're one of us, and if you want to stay one of us, you have to think about what'll work out for the team, not for you and some screwed-up, ignorant, _normal_ chick who shouldn't even be allowed to remember that you existed. Who doesn't even _deserve_ --  
  
He got no further. Before anyone else in the room could do anything, Stephen's fist had shot out and caught Bobby right under the chin. Jubilee heard a scream and was shocked to realize that it had come from her own throat. The last time she had cried out was when she had come home to find her house a shambles and her neighbor, Mrs. Ostrowski, sitting white-faced on the couch. _Jubilation, dear, try to stay calm when I tell you this..._  
  
What? Don't like hearing the truth? Bobby raised one hand. Ice crystals gathered to form a lump the size of a softball, which he hurled.  
  
Jubilee knew how fights went around this place. She knew the rules. Once powers were allowed, they were allowed on both sides, and she had fought enough simulated battles alongside Stephen to know what he did with his when he was upset or angry. And much as she felt like Bobby deserved pretty much anything that was coming to him right now, she didn't feel like explaining to Xavier that she had just stood there while their resident human popsicle's brain was systematically fried.  
  
She concentrated and filled the room around them with as many bursts of colorful light and sound as she could muster. It was temporary, but it worked. Stephen and Bobby looked up as if they'd just realized she was there. And now Evan was running back into the room, Xavier moving smoothly forward by his side. What is going on here?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Victim of Circumstance

Chapter 11: Victim of Circumstance  
  
_September 22  
  
Sorry. Mom called me for dinner as soon as I finished with yesterday's entry, and I promised myself I'd tell the rest after, but I never got to.  
  
Okay. After Amanda left, Margali asked me (as I expected her to, I guess), Who is Xavier?  
  
I pretended to be very interested in the pattern of the carpet.   
  
A friend of Amanda's lives at a place called the Xavier Institute. Does that have anything to do with...  
  
I don't remember what she said next, because that's when I realized that I knew where I'd seen the guy in that picture. Except the last time, he had been a rather interesting shade of blue and equipped with a prehensile tail. I know it's stupid of me to wonder, but I can't help it: does Margali know the truth? Does Amanda know? If so, how much? What did she think when she found out? Did she still want to be with him? And was there something wrong with me that I didn't want...  
  
I do remember two other things she said. The first was that I sounded like I still missed Stephen in spite of myself.  
  
The second was this: One thing I've noticed, even in this short time, is that you tend to let the situation -- or the people around you -- influence your decisions.  
  
I'm good at accomodating. I was barely aware of what I was saying, I was just glad to steer the conversation back into safer waters.   
  
I'm not saying it makes you a bad person, just that there's a time and a place for it. It's something that you should maybe think about.  
  
What is? I asked.  
  
What's right for you, she said in an obey-the-wise-one voice. The answers might surprise you.  
  
And I just realized that I'm quoting my therapist on paper -- what's next, quoting her to my friends? Oh, well, since you, esteemed diary, are the only one who will ever hear this, I may as well admit it: she has a point.  
  
A victim of circumstance. It sounds so reasonable when I look back and read it. Like there's nothing I can do. I couldn't do anything to keep Dad from leaving. I couldn't do anything to stop the constant psych-out battle that went on between the two of us and each of Joanne's boyfriends. And I always told myself that there was nothing I could do about it. Just like there's nothing I can do about the way things are now between Stephen and me. Please tell me there isn't. Because accepting that you can't is better than knowing what it's like to try and fail, right?  
  
Oh, who am I kidding? The whole reason I wanted to remember last year is so I could maybe hold onto the two times that I stood up for myself... when Charity and Darren bawled me out, and when  
  
No, I can't put that down.  
  
Yes, I can. I have to. If I can't tell myself the truth, who can I tell it to?  
  
She said, I automatically responded Because I was angry at him and I was suspicious of him, but most of all, I was scared of him. I was scared for myself and for Stephen, no matter how many times I tried to tell myself that I wanted what was best. I mean, that was the truth, I did want what was best, but I was also afraid, even before he tried to erase my memory when he didn't like what I was hearing.  
  
That, more than anything, convinced me that I had absolutely no control. That it was my place. But if I didn't mind not having any say, ever, if I didn't mind accomodating, why did I feel so scared and confused and why did I hate it when I really wasn't on top of the situation, when there really wasn't anything for me to do?  
  
I can answer that one, too. Because I was scared of the unknown. I still am.  
  
**  
  
September 23  
  
Angelina has been angsting all weekend about the school paper. She believes that since she's the editor-in-chief of the Wallglass High Eyewitness, it's a personal blow to her morale if every issue isn't perfect. I consoled her as best I could, knowing to omit words such as and and phrases such as making too much out of this.  
  
Now I'm sitting under a tree at Sterling Lake Park, one of the nicest things about our town. My family has been coming here since I could remember. I first took swimming lessons here at the lake. Angelina has always been afraid of deep water and started screaming the first time they asked us to jump off the docks. I was so convinced, even then, that we were two halves of one person, that I remember wondering why I wasn't scared, too. In fact, I remember thinking that she was silly to think that there was anything in the water that could hurt her.  
  
Camp Argent is just across the lake. We were day-campers there from ages seven to nine, and I've been a CIT for the past two summers. When Dad still lived with us and worked at Ivers Publishing, the company picnic was held at the park every year.   
  
The park is also where I met Stephen, where I accompanied him to softball practice for moral support (and walked him off the field later as he gave a theatrical with every step).  
  
And now I'm remembering other things. Like the spy game we made up in seventh grade. It was originally meant to be a way to spy on Angelina and her new boyfriend, but it turned into a whole elaborate system, with a secret code and fake names. We even got Violet to play with her favorite dolls, Ivan and Consuela, underneath the tree house where Angel and Mark hung out. Then she would report back to us.   
  
Or the time he pinned mistletoe to his hat on Christmas and accosted me by the punch table. I threatened to toss the contents of my cup in his face if he even tried.  
  
In eighth grade, the school got the bright idea to hold the spring concert here. I kept expecting it to rain, but it didn't. Our music lifted right up into the sky, which was clear as could be with millions of stars. Singing is the one thing that I felt like nobody pressured me into doing. I made the decision myself that I was good at it.  
  
We spent hours hanging out on the playground after hours and talking. And I learned that even seemingly perfect families could be vibrating to a string no one else heard, and that that string could already be stretched tight enough to break.  
  
When he was starting to go out with Dawn and came to me with this sweetly hopeful look on his face. How do I make her happy? he asked me. What do girls like to hear? I wanted more than anything to say, Just be yourself, but I knew how far that would get him with people who didn't know him all that well. And yet, for a reason I couldn't even explain, I wanted to give him exactly that advice for exactly that reason.   
  
In eleventh grade, I learned something else: how easily life can change in a single afternoon, as we sat at the end of the dock over the lake and I watched him break down for the first time. It's just that it's all happening so fast, he choked out. I don't want to be a mutant. I knew that he would give absolutely anything for things to go back the way they were.  
  
I felt so helpless. So scared. And I knew that that wasn't what he needed at the time, but I couldn't help it. But you are human, he'd told me. It's okay to think that. And that scared me even more, because that meant that he was already beginning to no longer consider himself one of us. And the worst thing of all isn't that I was helpless, it was that I might not have been. But I had been thinking of myself as a victim of circumstance for so long that I had no idea what I could have done.  
  
I still don't.  
  
Suddenly remember. Last spring. We went down to the career center to look through those gigantic college guides that make my eyes glaze over. I was flipping through them in a daze, wondering how I was supposed to choose when I didn't even know what I wanted. Oh, yeah, everyone knows I want to be a singer, because that's what I let them believe, but I've spent my whole life being defined by what other people think of me, and I gather that the music business is very big on that. I do remember that one of the reasons that I was and still am looking forward to college is that I'll have a clean slate, a chance to make a first expression and to speak my mind without anyone gasping in surprise. They wouldn't be shocked whenever anything I did didn't match anything in their little mental files marked with my name.  
  
And then it came to me, a bolt from the blue: Now that I've decided what I don't want so much after all, it's time to decide what I do want. And I may not know what's best for me, but I know a lot more than they do. Nobody's going to make my decision for me. Nobody else is going to live my life for me. When you first come face to face with that fact, it's the most frightening thing of all: the realization that you're on your own. But it doesn't have to be horrible. You don't have to run from it. And the fact that I didn't... I mean, Margali has talked about the first step. But I think I took the first step before I even met her.  
  
**  
  
September 24  
  
They're talking all over the school for a big nighttime assembly that's going to be held here in a week or so. About mutants, of all things. There's going to be a guest speaker who's supposedly in favor of them. I wonder how long they're going to last before they're stoned to death.  
  
I was sitting at lunch with Jasmine, watching her blather. Honestly, I do not know what has happened with that girl. Last year, she was getting straight A's and doing extracurricular everything (except cheerleading; she'd gotten turned down because she was too for Karen's tastes). This year, she's dropped the newspaper (much to Angelina's desparation), the lacrosse team, and chorus. She's also wearing those lacy mesh tops and squealing at a sonic level whenever Kevin yell at her in the hallway. Then he pretends to eat her shoulder. Go figure. Why am I only noticing this now? How long has she been doing it?  
  
Anyway, she was talking about how Kevin was spending more and more time with the kids who'd been recruited for the Friends of Humanity. If he joins them, he'll want me to, too.  
  
Will you? I asked.  
  
I probably should, but they freak me out. All that stuff about how mutants are a plague that should be wiped out. It's such a turn-off.  
  
What do you think about them?  
  
About mutants? She wrinkled her nose. I can sort of see why we're supposed to be afraid of them. I mean, they would have these powers, right, and nobody's telling them what to use them for. Who knows? I guess they could use them against us. She shrugged. But I don't know, that's the thing. I don't think any of them do. If they really knew any mutants, up close, it would probably change a lot of things. Hell, if I knew any, then at least I'd know whether to join or not. Unless it was someone like Jeff.  
  
It isn't, I said very quietly.  
  
What? Phoebe, you have a really weird look on your face. What isn't? Her own face sort of changed. Do you know anyone who's...  
  
Yeah. And so do you. But before I tell you, can I quote you on what you just said? I pulled out my notebook and a pen with the end chewed mostly off.  
  
Sure, I guess. Pause. Quote me for what?  
  
And editorial I'm going to write. I didn't look up from where I was scribbling. For the Eyewitness.  
  
A year ago, I couldn't stop a friend from making a decision that I wasn't sure was right for him. Now I was able to keep from making the same mistake again. I told Jasmine the same thing Mom had told Margali, that Stephen had switched schools and I hadn't seen him since. She said she'd have to think on it.   
  
Now I know that I have to write this article. And if I'm wrong, and people get on my case about it, who cares? I'm not going to let it bother me. I am so done being a victim.  
  
_


	13. The Voice of Reason

A/N: The song in this chapter belongs to David Wilcox. Speaking of things in this chapter, one of them will be some more major anti-Xavier-ness.  
  
Chapter 12: The Voice of Reason  
  
Someone knocked on the door. Stephen yelped.  
  
The door opened a crack. You okay? Jubilee asked.  
  
What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine.  
  
Coming to dinner? I made it myself.  
  
They're actually letting us into the kitchen now?  
  
As long as we promise never to use Kitty's recipes, Jubilee replied with a grin. Hey, why the kicked puppy face? Wait, don't tell me, let me guess. It's because of what Bobby said.  
  
Sort of.  
  
If the situation had been any different, I would have told you not to take it personally. The Friends of Humanity have been harassing his parents because they won't join, so now he's seeing mutant-haters everywhere. It's understandable, but it doesn't make what he said right.  
  
Was he telling the truth?  
  
You mean, did Xavier mess with Phoebe's head? He told all of us that he was going to if things got too hairy, but other than that... She shrugged. You were there. What did it look like to you?  
  
I don't know.  
  
Do you think he'd try to hurt her?  
  
I don't know.  
  
If you did think so, what would you do? You punched out Bobby for this girl. You must really like her.  
  
I do, Stephen said firmly. More than that, I...  
  
she prompted, casting her eyes down for a moment, but quickly disguised it with a look of bright expectation.  
  
That's not what matters right now.  
  
Then I don't see what does matter, Jubilee told him. Listen, if you don't feel like coming down, I'll cover for you. Far as they know, Kitty accosted you as soon as you got home from school and demanded that you try her new, improved muffin recipe. And now you're not sure whether you'll ever be able to eat again.  
  
he said gratefully as she slipped out the door.  
  
He didn't even notice that it had gotten dark outside. It didn't occur to him that this was the fourth evening in a row he'd spent alone in his room, staring at the ceiling. Or that he still had ten pages of history to read. He only half heard the music coming from the CD player. Under any other circumstances, it would way over the line into too mellow for his tastes. But tonight, it seemed to suit the mood.  
  
_The search for my future  
Has brought me here  
This is more than I'd hoped for  
But sometimes I fear  
That the choice I was made for  
Would someday appear  
And I'll be too late for that flight  
I should hold it up, hold it up to the light.  
  
It's too late to be stopped at the crossroads  
Each life here, each a possible way  
But wait, and they all will be lost roads  
Each road's getting shorter the longer I stay..._  
  
It didn't even matter that he was confined to the mansion Until Further Notice. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go; while Kurt spent his weekends on dates with Amanda and Evan and Bobby spent theirs at the skate-park, it figured that the only time Stephen felt like the four walls of his room would drive him crazy was when he was forced to spend most of his time there.  
  
Because he wanted to spend as little of it as possible with the others.  
  
_At least Bobby won't have any trouble getting ice for where I socked him in the face, _he thought. But it had been a hollow victory.   
  
There was Bobby's reaction when he realized that he'd crossed the line. _Oh, man,_ he'd thought. _He's pissed. Is he gonna wipe my mind now?_ And there hadn't been any cockiness in that thought, but real, honest fear. And it had been a fear that Stephen had relished. After years of being nervous of what other people would think, all of a sudden, other people were afraid of _him_.  
  
There was the knowledge that he could have easily dealt with Bobby's fear by satisfying it. He might have, too, if Jubilee hadn't intervened. Things had a way of getting out of control when he was angry, but this time he wouldn't have regretted it right away. If ever.  
  
Those thoughts frightened him. They disgusted him. But there they were.  
  
_...The urge was there, and, at times, it will be your deadliest enemy._  
  
The professor had said that to him, after he had goofed up under stress another time. But how could he believe anything Xavier told him at this point?  
  
_He must have had a good reason not to tell you.  
_  
Well, for starters, there was the fact that trusting him was just one of the things that you did here, like going to classes, showing off your powers, and making fun of Scott behind his back. Xavier provided shelter and guidance, and, in return, you did what he said, when he said. No arguments. You wore the uniforms, you went through the motions, you stopped seeing the people you cared about if you thought it might present a danger to the whole. If you protested, you were considered a traitor to the team, and something always happened to make you change your mind anyway. Or you left.  
  
He was always right.  
  
And he had a good reason for everything he did.  
  
_Bobby could just have been pushing your buttons. Trying to pick a fight.  
  
Who's the telepath around here, anyway? I know that picking a fight was the last thing on his mind._  
  
Otherwise, it meant that Phoebe had been telling the truth, and that Stephen had taken Xavier's word over hers. He couldn't believe that he would ever do that. It just wasn't part of who he was.  
  
Who you used to be. Happy-go-lucky Stevie Spencer craved pretty Phoebe's approval and attention in all things. Messiah isn't that dumb.  
  
_Shut up!  
_  
You're a different person now.  
  
_Not when it comes to her. I didn't want her to see me any differently just because of what I am. Why should I see her any differently because of what she is?  
_  
What she is is a threat.  
  
_Never_.  
  
Do what needs to be done.  
  
_I still care about her.  
_  
That means nothing. If we are to survive, we have to think in terms of liabilities and assets, at least for the time being. Not in terms of feelings. Think about what's best for all of us. You are one of us. You are an X-Man. You will do as you're told.  
  
It took Stephen a second to realize that he had spoken aloud... and that he was yelling at thin air. The voice had been so clear and persuasive that he could have sworn that someone else had been in his room...  
  
...or in his head.  
  
But that was ridiculous. Jean wasn't the type to play tricks on people like this, and even Xavier wouldn't go this low. He had probably just been imagining things.  
  
_But I wasn't. It wasn't just my subconscious picking a fight. Someone was actually...  
_  
Jubilee had apparently given the cover story, and the others had apparently believed it, because nobody came to bother him. He was free to stay hunched on his bed for a long time, wondering how much of what he was starting to suspect was actually true.  
  
  



	14. All In An Instant

Chapter 13: All In An Instant  
  
_September 26  
  
I stayed up all of Monday night, practically, writing. I didn't even look at it once it was done, because that's bad luck. I just stuck it in my notebook and put it in the submission box the next day.Now my tongue hurts from biting it.  
  
What did I think, that my new and slightly warped confidence made me untouchable? That everyone would take my side just because Mr. Caisson did? That I could just tell the office who did it and they'd take care of it???  
  
Well, for starters, I don't know who did it, even though I have a very good guess. The paper is nowhere near ready to come out, but Brian Wilson is on the staff with Angelina. It didn't even occur to me that people who think differently are even more at risk than people who can't help being different, because we can be scared or shamed into changing our minds.  
  
Let me start from the beginning. I didn't even see the locker until the end of the day. People kept giving me uncertain little should-we-tell-her looks, and when Angelina and I raced down the hall to get our books after last bell, someone had scrawled MUTIE LOVER on my locker in big letters.  
  
The world went sort of... dark all of a sudden. All around us people were laughing (at me??) and talking and slamming their own lockers, and it all sounded like dubbed sound for the trying-to-be-funny-but-not-quite-there movie that my life had been known to lapse into.  
  
Ditto Angelina's voice (Oh my God who did this?). It's no big deal, I wanted to say. I CANNOT let something like this bring me back down. Sticks and stones and all that.  
  
But everyone would see it. And everyone would know.  
  
We have to tell someone, Angelina said later when we were sitting together in her room.  
  
I think everyone pretty much already knows.  
  
No, I mean, someone in the office. Mrs. Germaine. Assistant Principal Freeman.  
  
Nobody likes a tattletale.  
  
By the time I got finished with Brian, he wouldn't go near you. You look enough like me so that even the sight of you would scare him off.  
  
It's not worth it. Mrs. Germaine would probably think I was trying to get back at Brian for cheating on me or something Besides, we don't even know if it was him.  
  
It was just an idea.  
  
I know. Thanks, Angel.  
  
Don't tell Mom about it, she warned me.  
  
I won't.  
  
And if it's any consolation -- and I'm not just saying this -- the article was fantastic. The way you talked about learning to face the truth without fear... She faked a shiver. It totally gave me goose bumps.  
  
They've been handing out these flyers with signs that someone in your school could be a mutant, and one of them is that they go out of their way to avoid getting too close to anyone.  
  
She snorted. Like half the kids at the school? Besides, I've seen this list, too, and another sign is that they're too eager to fit in. These Friends of Humanity are full of it. Anyway, hopefully they won't know what you're talking about. But I did, and I... Pause. She shook her head. I can't believe you didn't tell me when it first started. When you first found out. I mean, I thought that therapist of yours was going to find out before I did. I still don't think you should have been angsting all that time, but at least it's a little more understandable. But...  
  
But what? I asked.  
  
But it seems kind of hypocritical, talking about facing the truth when you've been hiding from it yourself all this time.  
  
What truth? I hate it when she plays games with me like this.  
  
I don't know if you have realized it yourself, or when it started, or even how right I am. But I'm your sister, remember? I know when you're in love.  
  
Wait a minute. I was still trying to put all of this together in my head. Are you saying that I have a thing for Stephen?  
  
I'm saying that he's always had a thing for you. And I'm just telling you what I see. You went around all last year like your world had fallen down on you, and you avoided Reese until... She thought back. Until school let out. Did something happen when you visited that place?  
  
We had a big fight.  
  
I know that. Did something else happen?  
  
Maybe I should have told her, but I knew there was a time and a place for it.   
  
**  
  
September 28  
  
Today, Mr. Caisson accosted me as we were leaving English class. I wasn't sure what it was about until I realized that he was also the faculty advisor for the Eyewitness. And when he said, It's about that piece you wrote, it was confirmed.   
  
Here it comes, I thought. He's going to tell me that he doesn't want any of that left-wing (or is it right-wing?) pro-mutie drivel in his newspaper, thank you very much. I swear to God my heart stopped beating, then started again.   
  
I wonder if you really want to leave your name on it. I thought it was extremely well-written and well-thought-out. You really captured the essence of the confusion most of us are going through right now.  
  
Thank you. I still didn't look at him. I always thought that Angelina was the writer, not me.  
  
She may be the writer. But you're a very good one. The problem is, most of the other students don't share your opinions on mutants. Your locker was vandalized earlier this week, wasn't it?  
  
I nodded.  
  
Are you sure you want this to run?  
  
Yes. Things can't get any worse than they are already.  
  
If you're sure...  
  
I'm positive.  
  
You can always change your mind, you know. And there's one more thing.  
  
This time, I was stumped.   
  
If you don't mind people knowing that you wrote it, he says, then I wonder if you would like to read it out loud at the meeting. At my puzzled look: You know, the one that we're holding here about the mutant controversy? I think that other people, not just the school, need to hear what you have to say. And, now that I think of it, you could read it without anyone knowing that it's your work.  
  
I'll think about it, I said, and I knew that I would. I might even want to do it. There was a time when getting up in front of everyone and saying exactly what I thought, even though it could get me in deep trouble, would have caused me to wet myself in terror. I was as shocked that it didn't as I was by his invitation. Um, they said that there was going to be a guest speaker. Who is it?  
  
Mr. Caisson blanked for a second. Not sure. Oh, yes, I am. Some psychologist from Bayville. Charles Xavier.  
  
I think we all saw this coming, didn't we?  
  
  
  
_


	15. Trust and Deception

Chapter 14: Trust and Deception_  
  
October 1  
  
Rabbit, rabbit.  
  
No time to write all weekend. I had a big lab report due in science -- I barely had time to see Reese -- and now I have extra rehearsals every day. I pray that Ms. Rivers isn't going to do something stupid like make us sing at the mutant meeting this weeked. Speaking of which, now everyone in the school has taken sides. Jeff leads the ant-mutant faction, who now all have pins on their shirts. They're evenly divided between those who really believe it and those who have joined because they're scared of being harassed. It's just like I said in my editorial. Fear rules all.  
  
The janitors have cleaned off my locker, but it's like cutting off the hydra's head. Now some other lockers have been decorated, too, Reese's included, and some of the messages are much worse than mine. How can the teachers just sit back and let it happen?  
  
The others are rapidly dwindling. Our group hasn't joined yet. Nor have Angelina's weird friends Trish and Haley. Neither has Reese. I don't know what I'd do if he did. I hate that our ideas would have to keep us apart, but that's what would have to happen.  
  
How could I have felt so great last week, and feel like this now?  
  
**  
  
October 2  
  
The world did its little surreal-darkening thing when I saw Jasmine wearing an FOH pin. I think my response was something like,   
  
Kevin finally caved. I guess his parents bullied him into it.  
  
So why are you letting his opinions decide what you do?  
  
Have you seen what Jeff and the others are doing to people who don't come to school wearing these? She fingered the pin. Listen. I've been thinking a lot about what you told me. And I've realized that that's over. It happened, and yeah, I feel sorry for him, but that shouldn't affect what happens to us now. You think I'm letting other people make my decisions for me? You're the one doing that.  
  
He was our friend, I protested.  
  
Yeah? Has he even talked to any of us? I've been wondering why, and know I know. He thinks he's too good for us just because he's a mutant. But you're not one, and you should make sure everyone else knows it, too. I'm telling you this because I am your friend.  
  
She was gone before I could even protest. Or say that I feel sorry for the few friends that she does hold onto after this. Or even to convince myself of that. Because she's the only one I feel sorry for, then and now.  
  
**  
  
October 5  
  
It's hard to believe we've been in school over a month now. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Or something like that.  
  
I went up on the roof to write, but it was too cold, so I came back inside. But I could smell smoke through the trees, see the glint of fire in a backyard down the street. Delia's house. I know that the anti-mutant population of our town is holding a Let's Keep the Freak-lovers Out bonfire.  
  
The freak-lover they're speaking of, of course, is Xavier. In that case, maybe I should be out there with them. Yes, keep him out of our town. Out of our lives. But that's only a small part of me. Another part says, Let him come, we're ready for him, and the rest is wondering if it's really him that I'm freaked about. If it ever was. I'm still scared to death of him. I'm still unsure of whether my nightmares are something else besides. And I still hate him for what he did to me and to Stephen and to everybody. But I also know that I can't join the crusade against him, because it wouldn't end there. It never does.  
  
Reese has been the one saving grace through all of this. When I'm with him, I can actually say, Yeah, I know about that or I did that without the being something weird or unthinkable. I can ignore the situation that I'm in for a little while. We never talk about it.  
  
But (I hate that word) it's not enough. And I feel like I don't want it to be._  
  
The phone was ringing. Somebody get that? But Joanne and Andrew were both at work (Joanne's boss at the restaurant was one of the Friends of Humanity, and she was working extra shifts so as not to give him an excuse to fire her for not sharing his exalted views). And Angelina was at Trish's house. Oh, fine. Phoebe leaned back in her kitchen chair until she could pick up the phone.   
  
Hey, beautiful, came Reese's voice.  
  
I was just thinking about you.  
  
How about that? Are you hanging in there?  
  
Phoebe pushed back her hair. _What do I say? What _can_ I say to make him believe that I'm fine?_ I stopped eating in the cafeteria or in the courtyard. All people have really been doing is yelling, Freak lover' at me, but it's not something I want to listen to.  
  
I don't blame you. Remember what Jeff said at the party? The whole She only likes freaks' thing?  
  
  
  
This was what it was about, right?  
  
Uh-huh. I guess there's no changing his mind, is there? Sweet relief became bittersweet relief as she realized that she had lied to him, and not for the first time, either. Well, technically it wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth, and technically, this wasn't exactly the kind of thing she wanted to go telling everyone. She had told Jasmine, and look what had happened.  
  
But still, she felt deceitful. She cared about Reese, enough not to want to lose him, but not enough so that she trusted him that much.  
  
Was it just a feeling that they weren't meant to share everything, or did it mean that she would never be able to trust anyone again?  
  
She wasn't sure, at this point, what she would prefer.  
  
**  
  
Do you think I'm controlling his mind? the voice in her mind asked casually.  
  
Frozen in her half-awake state, Phoebe couldn't respond.  
  
Well, I'm not. I don't need to. There was only one case where it was necessary. I don't like tampering with people's minds. I believe that we each have great potential to change on our own. Sometimes, I do have to hurry it along a bit, but mostly, I keep them on my side by giving them good reasons. Do you know what Stephen's is?  
  
_One finger. One toe. If I can just manage to move, or even turn on my side, then I'll be waking up soon._  
  
I don't think so, my dear. Now, do you give up? _You_ are his reason. He believes that by staying with my X-Men, he will be able to teach you the art of acceptance. Myself, I'm not sure how you can accept what he is when you can't even accept what you are. In writing that silly editorial, you are trying to pretend that you're something more than a frightened child playing tattletale.  
  
_It's not like that.  
_  
If you tell all, then all of us are at risk. Stephen included. Do you want that?  
  
_I don't have to tell them everything.  
_  
Do you think they'll just leave it alone once they hear it? They'll be like bloodhounds on the scent.  
  
_Just leave me alone.  
_  
I'm telling you this for your own good. You will only stir up more dissent by sharing your experience, no matter how much of it you choose to share. And your sister was right, by the way. It's hypocritical to talk about facing the truth when you've been running from it for the past year. I can understand that you're afraid to admit to loving him, but I'm not trying to keep the two of you apart. Your reunion will be one step closer in realizing the dream.  
  
  
  
  



	16. Face Your Fears

Chapter 15: Face Your Fears  
  
Phoebe's door was closed, but she could still hear the voices from the floor below. I thought you were planning on going to this presentation!  
  
I am, Angelina said calmly.  
  
Go put on something decent. Your sister has.  
  
She's one of the main attractions. I'm not.  
  
Phoebe smiled, picturing the jeans and halter Angelina was wearing, then studied her own reflection in the mirror. She was wearing her favorite dress, blue denim with buttons down the front, the one Jasmine thought was too old-fashioned. Her stomach turned somersaults as she thought of her former friend. It seemed like everyone close to her was scattered all of a sudden.  
  
She hadn't dared fall asleep last night, but she didn't think it showed in her face. The freckles that had exploded on her face and arms over the summer were fading, leaving her pale as a ghost.  
  
You don't think you can do this, can you?  
  
_Maybe not.  
_  
Very good.  
  
_It'll only make them hate mutants more.  
_  
Use that excuse if you like, as long as you know that it's all right for you to be afraid.  
  
I never said I was afraid! she told her reflection, which stared accusatorily back at her. But that was still a lie, and she knew it. And the reason she was going ahead with this was because she had the crazy idea that she could do something about it.  
  
Someone rapped on the door. Who are you talking to? Angelina called.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. The same answer she'd given when Joanne or one of the teachers had caught her talking to Helena, her imaginary friend in first grade.  
  
Well, let's get going. I want to get a good look at this Dark Lord on wheels.  
  
She wanted to laugh, but was too nervous. Okay, here I come. _Ready or not, Xavier, here I come._  
  
**  
  
She sat in one of the front rows of the school auditorium, the only space in town big enough to hold everyone who had come to air their opinions on the mutant problem. Feet together, knees together, trying to look like a nice girl, a smart girl, a girl with something to say. That last, at least, was true.  
  
It was just as well that she had tuned out most of what Xavier had said. All that stuff about how their fear was unnecessary and how important it was that we understand and treat them as equals. She wanted to scream, _Are you treating us like equals, you and those X-Men of yours? What rights of ours do you recognize when you're playing with our memories? Or going through our minds when there's nothing we can do about it?_  
  
...understand that this is a touchy subject, Selectperson Larwood was saying from her place onstage. For all of us.  
  
Damn straight.  
  
...hope that we can begin to reach some sort of understanding. We have one more person who would like to speak, and then we will be open to discussion. The first is a high school student, Miss Phoebe Corlisle, who will be reading an editorial written on the mutant controversy.  
  
She rose, commanded her feet to stop wobbling, and walked up to the stage, clutching her stack of papers firmly in one hand. She knew from endless public-speaking lectures how important eye-contact was, but once she started looking out over the audience, she couldn't stop. It was like one of those dreams where everyone you know is, inexplicably, crowded into the same place.  
  
There were Joanne and the Bleached Frog, sitting in one of the middle rows. Angelina was sandwiched between them, still in the clothes she'd been ordered to change out of, arms folded across her stomach. Charity, Darren, and Violet were next to them. Margali was at the front of the balcony, yet another flamboyant shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Amanda sat next to her.  
  
And, slightly ahead of the same row where Phoebe herself had been seated only moments before, was the reason she had tried to stare straight ahead. If he had seen her, and she was now sure he had, he made no comment. In three consecutive seats nearby sat the lady with the white hair... and a guy whom she vaguely recognized despite the fact that he was wearing sunglasses instead of that ridiculous visor...  
  
... and Stephen, who met her eyes, but his expression didn't change. If it had, she would have burst into tears on the spot.  
  
She realized that everyone was waiting. Um, hello. Damn it, the microphone was screwed up. She adjusted it and repeated, Hello. Like she said, a senior here at the high school wrote this. And that same senior added to it without Mr. Caisson knowing, she added silently, when she knew that she might never get another chance to say what she had to say. I hope... _That you enjoy it? That you don't throw things at me?_ That it makes you think.  
  
Austrolopithicus, Cro-Magnons, Neanderthals -- I don't know if I'm getting them in the right order or even pronouncing them right, much less what each of them thought as the next came to take their place. Each new species was better designed, smarter, more able to adapt, more _something_. And each old species couldn't adjust, at least not quickly enough. Did they realize what was happening? Did they make a last desperate stand, did they try to kill the so-called threats, or did they just let themselves die out? Most importantly, were they scared of what it meant for them?  
  
We... homo sapiens...' She raised her eyes from the paper, clarified, All of you people, and resisted the urge to add, _Well, most of you_. ...aren't like them. We're smart enough to have assumed that since we were the stage of evolution that lasted the longest, we would be the last and greatest. We were smart enough to figure out how wrong we were. And we're smart enough to be scared.  
  
I've been wondering and wondering why people join groups like the Friends of Humanity, who are determined to stomp out all mutants before they can replace us. Now I've figured it out, I think, and I'll say it again:_ we're smart enough to be scared_. People say that fear comes out of ignorance and stupidity, and maybe that's true in some cases, but in this one, it comes from a knowledge of what's happened before. We know that we're being threatened, not only by people with strange powers, but by those powers themselves. Some of us don't want to live with the certainty that someone, a seemingly normal someone, can cause explosions or bend objects a whole lot bigger than spoons or control our minds. But the uncertainty is even more powerful, because we've seen and we've heard and we've figured out that this can happen to anyone. Our neighbors. Our kids. She dared to look Stephen square in the face. Our best friends. Yes, we're being invaded. No, we can't stop it. And I could totally see how that could lead to feeling helpless.  
  
There are mutants out there who hurt people, even though they don't know that's exactly what they're doing. She knew that four members of the audience, at least, had suddenly shifted in their seats. She wasn't reading now, and wondered who had guessed first. If we hear some things we're not supposed to hear, or maybe say some things that they don't want us to say, they can be so intimidated by us -- which maybe means that they're as scared of us as we are of them? -- that they decide to make us feel intimidated in return. They may not want to enslave us or destroy us, but they can make us feel like they have no control over how they deal with what we're facing, or what we think about it, or whether we even remember it. I've let one of them use my fear to keep me in a sort of emotional stasis. After all, I don't have any cool, special abilities. I believed that I was totally at their mercy, totally helpless, which is what a lot of you are probably feeling. We don't know what to believe, we don't know what side we're supposed to take. Some people, the ones with connections to mutants, choose to stand by their friends, but even for some of them, it's not that easy, because we're afraid of changing who we are to adjust to what they are. It's not a nice way to feel, and I totally understand why some people try to avoid it.  
  
She glanced at the paper again. That's why people join the Friends of Humanity. Not so they can be in control, but so they don't have to feel like someone else is controlling _them_. So they can believe in something besides the possibility of extinction. So they can listen to their fearless leader talk about the mutant plague and how it must be wiped out and feel like they have a chance, and they may be afraid, but at least they're not alone.  
  
It's okay to be scared of the unknown. Okay? We have every right to be scared of this new species, these new ideas. Most of the kids in my class have joined them more because they're afraid of being called freak-lovers' than anything else. Right now, there's nothing scarier than being different. But what's not okay is to let it take us over. I could have done that. I could have decided that he and all mutants had to pay for what he had done and how he made me feel, or I could have shut myself away and pretended that it wasn't happening. I almost did, too, until I realized that I was letting myself be defined by what was done to me, or what I thought might happen to me. I didn't want to be the victim anymore. Nobody does.' She willed herself not to look at Xavier. I don't forgive him anything, and I'm not about to forget. But I am not afraid of him anymore, because I know that I don't have to be just because I'm human.  
  
It's up to them how they decide to see us, sure. If they view us as equals like they want us to do. Maybe that'll happen now, I don't know. And it's up to them how they decide to deal with what they are. But the same goes for us. Until some evil mutant genius tries to take over the world, I think we should give them the benefit of the doubt and realize that we're _not_ weak, we're _not_ helpless, and there has to be a middle ground between letting ourselves die out and making sure that they do. She raised her eyes for the last time. We've always had a say in what happens to us. That hasn't changed. Question is, what are you going to do about it?  
  
There was silence. She even said, I'm done, to make sure people knew that she was.  
  
More silence.  
  
_Did I really just do that? Did I really just say all of that? Did I really just tell him that I wasn't afraid?_  
  
Someone had started clapping. Slowly, more and more people joined in.  
  
Phoebe had enough time to feel truly good about herself, for the first time in what felt like forever, for a few moments. I see that I had some sort of effect after all. Looking a little closer, she saw that Xavier was smiling. _Smiling_. She would have loved to kill him right then and there.  
  
_This had nothing to do with you_, she thought, not caring if he heard but sort of hoping he did. _I didn't write that because I was afraid, or because I was traumatized, or because I wanted revenge. That doesn't mean that I won't shout the truth about you and your disciples from the freaking rooftops if you don't leave me alone from now on. Same goes for Violet. And Stephen._   
  
As soon as she sat down, another voice whispered into her mind, Meet me outside.  
  
She whipped her head around. _I told you to stay out of my head, Xavier. I don't have time for this._  
  
Xavier, the voice repeated thoughtfully. Oh, man, he really did mess you up, didn't he?


	17. Fool Me Twice

Chapter 15: Fool Me Twice  
  
Xavier had said she was still scared. She hadn't sounded it. He had said that she would tell the world ther secret if she got the chance. She'd done nothing of the sort. He had said that he would never try to mess with her memories without talking to Stephen first. But all signs seemed to indicate that he'd done exactly that.  
  
What was he supposed to believe?  
  
What is right.   
  
He turned instinctively toward Xavier. So she was telling the truth.  
  
Does that change things for you?  
  
Why did you lie to me?  
  
I knew that at that point, your loyalty to the team was not yet secure, nor were you convinced that your old life was over. You might misjudge my actions and desert us. Think back: if you knew what I had almost done, would you have stayed?  
  
Much as he hated to admit it, it was true.  
  
Her knowledge was a threat --  
  
To the school's safety. I know.  
  
We didn't want you to make any hasty judgments, especially about things that didn't concern you.  
  
The same fury that he'd felt towards Bobby uncurled and stretched like a cat in the sun. Didn't _concern_ me? God, how could she not concern me?  
  
It took you a long time to leave your old life behind, but you finally did, said Xavier. Can you admit this to yourself, too: were you happy with your new one? Didn't you have friends, a purpose, a sense of leadership? You never knew where you belonged before. You never knew what you were good at. You never had any direction. We gave it to you. I knew how much you needed the Institute and the guidance we provided, and I didn't want to let anything stand in your way. I will ask you again: were you happy?  
  
Yes. No hesitation this time.  
  
And this girl. Just the way he said it made Stephen even angrier. She didn't support your decision to leave her. She didn't approve of your finding your place with my X-Men. She let her fear make decisions for her. You need us. You will need training for whatever abilities you have yet to develop -- excellent potential, remember. Why choose a world that will try to destroy you for that potential rather than one that will teach you to live up to it?  
  
_I don't know._  
  
They hate you for what you are.  
  
_So I should hide from them?_  
  
You need to be able to defend yourself, Xavier reminded him. With us, you know who you are.  
  
I know who you want me to be. A weight on his mind to which he had grown accustomed had lifted the second he'd seen Phoebe's face again. Now it was back, full force, and he recognized it for what it was, just as he recognized Xavier's words as the truth.  
  
_That's what makes him powerful. He tells us what he knows we want to hear._  
  
I tell you what you need to hear: that you will ultimately be destroyed if you try to survive in a world that doesn't understand you. That you are one of us. I thought you had learned that by now. Clearly, I was wrong.  
  
I can't be one of you if you expect me to let you screw around with my decisions. Or if it means losing her. How can you treat her like she can't make decisions for herself? And how can you treat me like that? He tried to remember what he'd learned about staving off mental attacks, but it was all slipping away, and he'd never been very good at that anyway. Now he understood why.  
  
I did what was best, as I am doing now. You don't even realize how much you need us. I think it would be better if we didn't allow your doubts to resurface, don't you?  
  
_Reinforced steel walls... um, picture the mental bolts bouncing off... oh, God, don't let me forget her... please..._  
  
Seeing the two of you together would truly have given me hope for the dream. The professor sounded almost regretful. But there are sacrifices that you must make, for your own good.  
  
The pressure was becoming unbearable, Xavier's influence washing over Stephen's mind in icy waves. He didn't understand how Phoebe could have fought this. Or why she even bothered.  
  
_Because she cared enough about me to not want to lose the memory, even if it was a bad one. But do I care enough about her?_  
  
Of course he did. He always had, from the day they had met to the last time they had spoken. Even when everybody else at the Institute called her some girl and this girl like she wasn't a person at all, just another problem that they had to deal with. Even when each thought that the other had betrayed them. His memories of her had been the ones he had called up when he was lonely or confused, and she wasn't a sacrifice he felt he wanted to make. Or had to.  
  
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I don't have to listen to this. I don't have to believe you. Stephen managed to send this message even as he clung the anger, the determination, the remorse, the emotions that were still his own and the one chance he had of getting through this. I don't want to be one of you anymore.  
  
Messiah...  
  
He wondered if Scott or Ororo noticed the weird smile on his face, somewhere between amused and horrified. Only the true Messiah would deny that he is one. And, using the last bit of his strength, he severed the connection. Maybe he'd regret this later on. Maybe it was a dumb mistake, trying to rebuild his life in this world. Maybe love wasn't enough of a reason. But somehow he thought -- and needed to believe -- that it was a perfect reason.   
  



	18. Afterimages

Chapter 17: Afterimages  
  
The cold water bit at Phoebe's feet and ankles at first, but after she swished them around a little, she became accustomed to it, was even glad for it, that it had woken her up. The whole evening seemed to be nothing short of a long dream sequence.  
  
_Almost a year_, she thought,_ since we were sitting in this same place, not sure how we got to this point or where we go from here, and I don't know what I want and he's still trying to make sense of what he is, and I try to tell myself that he needs me, but I guess I didn't try hard enough._  
  
Penny for your thoughts, he whispered in her ear.  
  
  
  
You're not laughing. He gazed at her suspiciously. Do you even know how to do that anymore?  
  
Of course I do. Why'd you come back? He started to speak. She cut him off. No, I mean, I know you came back to hear Professor Savior try to educate us small-town hoodlums. Why did you come back to me? She hoped he couldn't see how long she had been waiting for this moment. Things were never the way you hoped for. That was just the way it worked in real life.  
  
Because I need to know the truth. I need you to be straight with me like I was with you.  
  
The lights from along the shore were dim, and their flashlight didn't give much illumination. He could just barely see her face turned partly in the other direction. Do you know what your being straight with me almost cost me? I thought maybe that you didn't have any clue, but when I told you about it later, you didn't believe me. You believed him. And even if he had told you himself, you would have forgiven him instantly. Am I right?  
  
Stephen hesitated, then continued. You were right. I thought maybe the least I could do was hear your side of it.  
  
I don't want to talk about it. Not to Margali, not to Angelina, and not to you.  
  
Tentatively, he turned her face so she was looking him in the eye. You don't have to.  
  
Are you trying to freak me out on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Phoebe demanded.  
  
I already know everything about you, practically. You never used to hide from me.  
  
Oh, well, now we're talking about the way things _used_ to be. While we're on that subject --  
  
You said you wanted be to believe you again. Here's your chance. Are you going to do this for me, or are you going to turn into a victim of all your stupid complexes?  
  
It was the word that did it. She was sure that he knew it as well as she did. It's all you, she said, and closed her eyes.  
  
Okay. Here goes.  
  
On the nightmare day at that place, when Stephen was about to tell her one of the real reasons that the world hadn't had a clue about mutants, she had been sure he was poking into her mind to try and see if it was safe to tell her. He had gazed at her with a distant, calculating sort of look, and the hairs had risen on the back of her neck and she felt like she did sometimes when she was sure someone was sneaking up behind her. But that had been nothing.  
  
It was like that now. Sort of. One of his hands rested against her head, the other was holding hers like he was afraid she might run away. She almost did when she realized that there was no way she was living through this again.  
  
Memories floated to the surface as he uncovered and examined them. They never lasted any longer than the afterimages of a camera flash, and Phoebe was glad. Emotions were pulled up, too: her suspicion of what he'd gotten himself into, her flat disbelief at the answer, her anger at his self-righteousness, and the awful, all-encompassing paralysis as she realized how Xavier intended to handle this particular obstacle. Invisible fingers attempting to smooth her memories into nothingness like scuff marks in a rug. The fierce struggle to hold onto them, no matter how much they hurt. Even the chance that she might lose him hurt more.  
  
Much more.  
  
Whoa.  
  
_Stephen?  
_  
Speaking.  
  
_I told you so. Do you believe me now?_  
  
I don't know what to believe.  
  
_Let's see if this convinces you.  
_  
Shocked, he realized that not only was she not pushing him away, she was deliberately showing him more. How she'd encountered a strange girl in the parking lot of the school, one who'd advised her to get on with her life.  
  
That's Tabitha.  
  
_It was good advice. I wish it was that simple, though. I wish that when someone told you that, they were also telling you how much you were supposed to give up._  
  
When she had calmed down enough to drive, she had hightailed it home and snuck upstairs without anyone seeing her. There she had buried herself under the covers, shivering violently, knowing that even if she scrubbed for hours it wouldn't help, because the filth she was trying to get rid of was inside her head. She was contaminated. She was helpless.  
  
The nightmares started after that and continued all summer. One of the many things Stephen had learned was how to tell if someone else was trying to gain -- or already had -- access to another person's mind. He felt the terror that she had felt as Xavier delved into her memories, dissected her thoughts, scrutinized and taunted and judged. Her dread when she made sense of Violet's hysterical ramblings. How she had felt isolated from her other friends, unable to connect with Reese, hiding the truth from other people as she hid from it herself. When she started to regain and acknowledge her self-confidence (partly with help, but most of it, he was pleased to see, on her own), it was a little at a time, and once in a while, something would happen to knock it down again. But she had built on it. She had survived. He wondered if she knew how amazing that was.  
  
I'm sorry, he said at last. For both you and Violet. If I'd known...  
  
It's okay. Even though the look in her eyes told him that it would be a long time before it finally was. He was controlling you, too, whether he used his power to do it or not. Are you going to go back there?  
  
I don't know. Probably not.  
  
What are you going to tell your parents?  
  
What do you think I should tell them? he came right back.  
  
The truth.  
  
  
  
For sure. They do love you, even if they have kind of a messed-up way of showing it. And it won't hurt anyone to tell them what you were really doing there, especially now that you're not going back. Was she grinning? Which, by the way, I'm glad you're not. I don't think I could stand to go through all of that again.  
  
I think you could.  
  
I thought that you didn't care about me, she said forcefully. Do you have any idea how that felt?  
  
I felt a little of it too, you know. Listen, Phoebe, if you ever thought that I didn't care about you... He trailed off.  
  
  
  
Well, you'd be wrong, and I hope I was, too. If I'm going to survive in a world that hates me just for existing, I'm going to need all the help I can get.  
  
You were very wrong. Phoebe's arms were around his neck. When had that happened? Used to be that I was too weirded out to remember that it didn't matter what you could do, nothing would ever change between us.  
  
A long silence hung like fog over the lake.  
  
You know, I actually wish that I had stayed a superhero, Stephen remarked.  
  
And why is that?  
  
Easy. The hero always gets the girl. And then he kissed her, because at that point, there didn't seem to be anything else to do.  
  
**  
_October 7  
  
Thunder woke me up early this morning. Then rain against my window. Funny how closely the real storm followed the beginning of the metaphorical one. Angelina told me that the part of the meeting was basically a fighting match between the and the anti-mutant goons. Why am I not surprised? The words mutant registration were being used more and more as the evening progressed. This crisis isn't going to go away. That's one thing that Stephen and I didn't talk about, but it was understood.  
  
As far as I know, he is currently telling his parents everything. I hope they're not still too stuck in their tracks to deal with it. I hope he can stay and continue with his life here, and I'm glad I get to be a part of it again. I missed him more than I knew, and I think I wanted to be with him before either of us even realized it. Funny how those bits of insight can sneak up on you like that. Like how you know you're no longer a victim when you stop treating your life like a series of injustices. Or when you're looking and looking for the right one, and he's been under your nose the whole time. It's nice to know that the only thing I have to be afraid of is how I'm going to break the news to Reese. I don't think the nightmares will stop right away, but I know that they're just that -- bad dreams.  
  
Andrew was apparently very taken with some of the FOH propaganda. Joanne says that she's leaving him if he joins them. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.   
  
The decision to read what I wrote, words that came straight from the heart (or somewhere around there), was the first one I made in a long time that I felt was right for me. Now I think I've made another one: to be with Stephen, to stick by him, to love him, no matter what. I think this whole self-awareness thing could be a habit, I wouldn't mind it a bit, and neither of us are afraid of what's to come. And that, I guess, is something._  
  
A/N: That was the last chapter. The saga will be continued (and possibly completed) in a future story. Saturn's Hikari, if you're reading this, you can use Phoebe's speech as long as you give credit where credit is due. Thanx for reading, everyone.   
  



End file.
